Strange Things Happen with Timey Wimey Stuff
by PippinStrange
Summary: A student finishes university finals and meets the Tenth doctor in a Christmas special. Whisked into the stars for a visit to a human-friendly planet, the Doctor has made a bet that nothing will go wrong... naturally, they land in the middle of a rebellion where everyone suddenly hates humans.
1. The Piiiiiicric Acid Incident

**Dear Readers,**

**I got a request for a Doctor-Who fic years ago, and it's finally begun. While I am dedicating most of my time to my Strange Things Happen sequel for Narnia, consider this an early Christmas present. This will not be a very long story, only long enough to be a Christmas Special type of episode, in which I stumble into the Doctor, and will go on a crazy adventure full of aliens, war, Christmas, planets, and a little Time And Relative Dimension In Space… ;)**

**Lots of love!**

**Pippin**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**The Piiiiiicric Acid Incident**

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><p><em>Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the way… <em>

A classic Christmas tune and indescribable joy bubbles through my mind as soon as the sunlight greets me. Through the double heavy doors, out of the brick building and into the stark December freeze, free of my very last final of the fall semester.

"I am doooone!" I declared to no one in particular, jumping off the last two stairs and beginning my last trek down the sidewalk, admiring everything around me without the filter of _study. Study. Study._

The trees are finally naked in the cold, the green grass is mint colored under a hoar frost, and the flag on the quad snaps and shakes its chain with the wind. There's hardly a cloud in the sky, but with the below-35 weather, it isn't hard to guess that we won't have snow for Christmas (as usual). Sometime around New Years, the freeze would lighten a bit, the fog would roll in, and we'd have an icy road problem.

But until then…

"Merry Christmas!" I screeched to the people I knew, waving goodbye and giving hugs as I made my way across the middle of campus back to my apartment. The campus had been decorated with little twinkly lights since the first of the month, but even now in the mid-morning, they seemed to shine brighter.

_It's finally Christmas! It's finally Christmas! It's finally Christmas!_

I slapped my gloves together, trying to keep my fingers warm. The air wasn't just brisk; it was too cold for freakin' polar bear.

Tonight, my family was going to pile in the giant suburban and come pick me up, and we were all going to go out for burgers. Until then, I had time to put away school things, get perishables out of the fridge, clean house, and pack up my clothes for holiday break at my home. Stepping through that back doorway was one of the things I looked forward to the most. The mini light on the windowsills and the smell of cookies...

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Really.

It made me feel like composing poems on the spot. Something awkward that often happens to my brain, when walking across the lawns, when I'm in a good mood. No joke.

_There's a hop in my skip and a skip in my hop, _

_It's like someone just gave me a key to Gringotts…_

_Jingle bells, cookie smells, cocoa in the pot…_

_All I want is for Christmas to not stop…_

Not my best. In fact it's pretty terrible. But moving on. I decided to take a quick detour across the chasm to get a little cash at the bank for my tithe on Sunday. What _is _the chasm, you ask?

Well, Hogwarts has the Forbidden Forest. Walden University has the chasm, a long stretch of woodland growth shrouding two banks of a creek that runs entirely from one side of campus to the other. Eventually dorms come to an abrupt end on the edge of woods, crisscrossed with little walking trails, footbridges, a few hidden meadows and break-up benches along the paths. Beware walking the isolated trails at nightfall in case of creepy humans leering about, or if you live in one of the campus housing at the edge, expect to find deer in the yard weekly.

There are two roads, one that goes down and around the outdoor theater on the far end of the chasm, and on the other side, the second road rises steeply up through the narrowest section of canyon (where the "woods" break off for a moment to make room for a fire pit, a stairwell, and an emergency call pole that is out of service).

I took the one less traveled by—just kidding. I just followed the curve of the road down the hill, around the edge of three dorms, across the creek—

_WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHT._

The first time I heard a semi-truck make the Tardis sound, I almost lost my mind. I whirled around and looked wildly towards the highway, only to hear the reverb of the truck let out a roar of exhaust and continue on. Then I texted a friend, embarrassed about it, but she only confirmed my nerdiness by saying that she would have done the same thing.

_WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHT._

I had heard that noise so many times I almost didn't react anymore. Still, I couldn't help but slow down, ears perking up and brain chiding me for being silly.

_FWOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFSHT._

But… it's never gone on for more than a split second. Only once, then the sound of the truck always follows. But this almost sounds like it's on repeat…

_FWOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFSHT._

And there is no truck.

"For the love of all that is holy," I whispered, turning in a slow circle and looking around me. The fire pit looked relatively normal, sitting inside of its open sided pavilion. The steep hill behind it, with fern banked stairs going down to the creek edge, was empty. The road was empty—students were mostly packed up and leaving, or sitting in a three hour final exam. A breeze scuttled out of the gravel path that led deeper into the woods on my left, quaking the dead, brown branches all around.

"Naturally," I said, sighing with disappointment.

I turned and slammed face-first into a little blue door, causing me to immediately falling backwards and land, spread-eagle, on the road.

_Oh asphalt, how often you have been here to catch me when I fall. Let us be married!_

"Oi!" said a voice on the inside of the blue door. The little blue door was hardly wide enough for a large person to squeeze through, making the appearance of the little blue outhouse look surprisingly narrow, but a lot taller.

This is what most people would recognize as a "Police Box" from England's older days, like a phone booth, only a dusty blue. They would come equipped with a phone for dropping the police a line, but they don't build them anymore.

This one—in particular—didn't even _need _to materialize out of thin air nor have a little flickering siren-light on top for me to know that it was no ordinary police box.

_It's the Tardis, the space-ship-time-machine of the Doctor himself._

"Oi!" I said loudly in a London accent, snickering mischievously. "Watch where you're landing, eh?"

The door burst open, and the tenth Doctor poked his head out, hair askew and eyes boggled behind a pair of hipster glasses. He stared at me for a moment, open-mouthed, while I rubbed the end of my nose hazily.

"Did I_ land_ on you?" he exclaimed loudly.

"No, but you landed in my destination about a millisecond before I arrived," I said in regular northwest American dialect (which is… nothing much), trying to fight my huge, geeky grin. I stood up and brushed myself off.

"Sorry—I thought I heard a London accent for a moment," the Doctor asked with understandable confusion.

"It was fake," I said without apology. "It comes and goes."

"Riiight," the Doctor squinted at me doubtfully. "I'm sorry—are you all right?"

"Sure, no harm done, I think," I said politely.

He stared at me, not replying. I let my eyebrows creep up before adding, "Really. I'm fine."

"Aren't you surprised to find this here?" the Doctor gestured to the Tardis.

"Of course!" I smiled, giddily. "_SO _surprised!"

The Doctor cocked his head quizzically. "So—where—am I, exactly?"

"Ah, yes, sorry," I said, indicating the woodsy area and the road to the dorms with some halfhearted stewardess attitude. "You have the pleasure—nay, the privilege—of being at Walden University, United States, Earth. And in case you were wondering, it's the year 2011. December sixteenth, to be exact. MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

"Merry Christmas!" the Doctor repeated, abashed, but looking very happy about it.

"I'd give you latitude and longitude but I have no clue."

The Doctor cocked his head at me again. I repeated the gesture, confused. I thought he'd be blabbing about something by now. Something like "Basically, run" or "fancy that! ALLONSY!"

But he said nothing at first. "Do you… know who I am?" he asked.

"The Doctor," I said with confidence.

"Have we met before?"

"Uh, no. We have not."

"Then who are you?" he asked. "Maybe we haven't met yet?"

"Long story," I smiled sheepishly. "What if I told you that you've landed in a parallel earth where 'the Doctor' is a character of fiction? You're as recognizeable as… Father Christmas!" _Time for some British lingo here. There will never be a language barrier between us as long as I can help it! _

"Nooooo!" laughed the Doctor.

"I'm serious. If you head over to London you'd find none of those alien attacks, fat blobs, or Titanic space ship things ever happened!"

"Fat blobs…?" he repeated, eyes narrowing.

I gave him a panicked smile. _Oops. Hasn't happened yet. So we're post Runaway Bride, pre-Companion-Donna… darn. I really liked his personality when he was with Donna._

"It's just a thing," I shrugged. "You're like a legend… thing. You are a person from legends! Lots of legends!"

_British television. Close enough._

"And the fact that a blue police box landed in the middle of the road on your college campus didn't—I dunno—strike you as a bit, odd, then, if I'm merely a legend?" he asked, stepping farther out.

I held out my hands defensively. "Can I help being happy if my favorite legend is coming to life before my eyes?"

The Doctor looked at me closely. For a moment I felt that I was a little bug in a microscope in a lab, being scrutinized, critiqued. He could probably hear the adoration in my voice, and was perfectly creeped out by it, or entranced. I was hoping for the latter.

"I'm serious," I said. "Um. The look you're giving me makes me feel like I'd better help you out by being in a Petri dish. Will the fire pit over there do?"

He burst into laughter. "Uh, sorry, um, well, let's introduce ourselves properly, anyhow," the Doctor grinned and stepped out into the street, slipping his glasses off into the front pocket of his trench coat and holding out his hand. "So—I'm the Doctor—which you know already, I suppose. And not a legend at all—as you can see. Alive, well, and ticking!"

"Allo!" I declared. "I'm…" I ceased suddenly. I've been going by Pippin in abnormal situations ever since I can remember. It rolled off the tongue as easily as my real name. But this wasn't me going into a fantastical world, where anonymous titles seemed like such a hot idea. This was the Doctor! _THE _Doctor!

I grimaced. "I'm… Pippin," I finished, with a sigh.

The Doctor gave me another critical, studying look. "Why did you hesitate?"

"Oh, you know, old habits," I brushed it off with a smile. "Parents always say—never give your name to a stranger! I'm naturally loud but secretly shy as heck. But you're the Doctor… and… and… well, luck does not favor the timid."

"Oh, snappy, aren't we," the Doctor grinned at my obvious personality disorder.

"Moving on," I said quickly. "What are you doing in Walden? Please don't tell me there is some kind of alien threat, where some large corporation has decided to sacrifice human life for the next step in evolution where they can rule the world and blah blah blah."

The Doctor's mouth dropped open. "Tell me, is my legend in a book available at the local library?"

"Nope!" I said easily enough. "Unavailable! Out of print nowadays! Can't help you there!"

"GreeeAAAAat," he drawled. "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm in the wrong year. I meant to come in twenty-ten. Heard a thing about a mysterious explosive acid being hidden away in Walden University's science building. I thought I might have a look." He said this with a 'there could be danger but I'm awesome so no problem' kind of tone.

I burst out laughing. "Really? Somewhere in your universe, you heard about _that_?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I did, in the Intergalactic Science Daily News. Little snippets of science progression around the galaxy in the past, present, and future. Technology based, of course—there are so few time travelers. Anyhow, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, do you?"

"Piiiiicric acid," I drawled, laughing. "It's an explosive. But it was a complete overreaction. We had the bomb squad, state police, everything. Everything was disposed of without a problem, and we all got to sit in the gymnasium like refugees."

"Are you sure?" the Doctor asked, seriously.

"Yes, of course. It's already happened. I mean, I was there…"

"Best to check though," the Doctor disappeared inside the Tardis. Before I could say another word, the light on top began to whir and the Tardis made that exhausting rush of air sound.

"Wait!" I cried. _I want to go! What the heck! The Doctor actually shows up in my life and I only get to talk to him for five minutes?_

I barely had time to think as the Tardis disappeared entirely from the road before me. But the sound never stopped. _Fwoosht, fwoosht… _it continued, till, the Tardis was rematerializing right where it had stood.

"Uh—change your mind?" I asked, completely overjoyed that he was staying after all. _You'd better not leave again, alien boy, till you've asked me to come with you! I can't let this opportunity go!_

"Change my mind?" said the voice inside, as the Tardis seemed fully massed. The light and sound calmed down, and the door creaked open, and there was the Doctor again.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Did you change your mind?" I repeated. "About going back to 2010?"

"No, I did!" the Doctor smiled. "And I've come back… and…" his gaze changed from one of amiable politeness to recognition. "WHY HELLO!" he cried loudly, grinning and stepping out of the Tardis. "It's uh—uh—Pippin, wasn't it?" he shook my hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

"You only just… I mean…" I stumbled. "How long has it been for you?"

"I was in 2010 for a week," the Doctor explained. "I am fairly certain that the world would have ended as you know it, if I hadn't returned and fixed your science labs little 'problem'. You know what kept that acid from growing into a Genus Klorin Dophulus? _Me!_ Coincidentally, I saw _you_ as you walked to the gym. You were laughing a CONSIDERABLE amount for someone whose life was in danger."

"I didn't think my life was in danger," I snickered. "And what the heck is a Klorin Dophulus?"

"Genus," the Doctor corrected. "It so HAPPENS that the unsupervised acid had crystallized—not with an explosive—but with an insect known as the Klora. Had they been allowed to mix for much longer, an entire swarm of the Klorin Dophulus may have taken over the campus, and eventually, the entire United States. Does that sound funny to you?"

I bit my lip, hiding my laughter. "Um… yes?"

The Doctor finally smiled, not judging me for my humor. "Well—I guess it would seem funny to you. In this context."

"Indeed," I snickered. "And what's funnier is that you came back to the exact moment you left, and so, nothing has changed for me, but you look a little happier and wilder now that you have had a successful adventure."

"Aaaah, well," winced the Doctor. "Can't have everything stay perfect, can we? Sometimes going in and doing a little housekeeping and—well—saving the world—has to happen. Even without help sometimes."

"You should have let me tag along," I said, completely nonchalantly, as if I was asking what his favorite ice cream flavor was. "I could have shown you where to go. I could have gotten you into that building without the bomb squad finding you… back stairway, and all that."

The Doctor laughed heartily. "That would have been extremely helpful! It took quite a long time circling around where no one could see me. Eventually," his voice dimmed somewhat in its happiness. "Oh, you know—eventually—I was able to get where I needed to be, and without assistance."

"Probably a bit lonely though, you know, saving the world without someone to congratulate you for it," I gave him a sly smile.

The Doctor scoffed. "Hardly!" we lapsed into silence, and I looked away towards the creek, but the Doctor's gaze remained.

I laughed to myself, wondering who'd be writing this episode if it were a Christmas special. _Moffat, I'd die at the end. Davies, I'd simply leave and bid him a tearful farewell._

"Thanks for saving the world," I said sincerely. "Thank-you for what you do. Now, how does that sound? Not bad to hear it out loud, huh?"

"It isn't too bad," the Doctor chuckled. He broke off in mid-laughter, and suddenly seemed to examine my face, then looked back at the Tardis, and then me again

"WELL, it was LOVELY meeting you," He whirled towards the door as he spoke.

"Wait," I said, a little panicked. "You aren't leaving—again—are you?"

The Doctor slowly withdrew his hand from the handle on the Tardis door.

"I don't, uh, have to leave exactly, I don't have anything pressing," the Doctor admitted, looking around the patch of woods without much interest.

"But it's not exactly super exciting here either," I added. "Nothing to keep you here. After all, it is 2011."

"I'm not _needed _here," the Doctor corrected. "There are other places I could go."

I let myself smile. "And the Doctor goes where he is needed."

"That's right!"

"Or," I continued, "He just goes where he _intends _on having a good time in some kind of historical or planetary event which ends up only being a cover for some kind of hostile activity in which you or the companion are kidnapped and are forced to save the world from impending doom…"

"That is where your comic books—or whatever medium it is—has grossly exaggerated! I wouldn't say that happens _every _time," the Doctor grinned. "Sometimes me and… well, my friends, or friend… we'll go somewhere and have a great time."

"Really?" I said doubtfully. "Those are never included in our… legends."

"Drama makes a better story," the Doctor offered. "Naturally not _everything _that happens to me will be passed down and made into legend. No one will want to hear about interrupting a Beatles concert or sleeping in on a Saturday morning."

"Ri-ight," _I should've said that first, I'm the literature major._ "However, still, I would think that you can't go anywhere without finding some kind of... disaster. Some horrible, ridiculous plot from evil-doers that you will inevitably stumble upon and will have to save a strange alien species from their malice."

"Sometimes it's saving aliens from _humans._"

"Or suppose, you go into some kind of famous Earth historical event, in which the history books all know it as a specific disaster from natural occurrences but it is really alien activity!"

"Weeeeelll…"

"Then there is always landing aboard a planet or a ship with a small group of elite people—between five or nine—who are being slowly possessed by some alien persona and begins to kill off fellow crew members till the thing is discovered and stopped and before you destroy it you feel some kind of kinship with it and forgive it before it goes."

"Hang _on,_" said the Doctor, abashed. "How _long _is this novel you've been reading? Or are these legends exchanged simply by word of mouth?"

"Or maybe," I continued, on a roll, "The whole planet has been enslaved or destroyed one way or another and the _only _reason that you and your companion had a good time was because by some trick, it was erased from history and never happened. I'll bet you that one of these formulaic occurrences have followed you everywhere at least twice. I bet you've never had a trouble-free visit. Anywhere. Anytime."

"I'll take that bet," the Doctor said, looking mischievous. "Miss-I-know-it-all-because-I've-read-all-about-you. Miss Pippin of Walden University who crushed my faint hope of solving the acid-in-the-science-building problem and turned out to need saving after all. I will bet YOU—yes you—that we can take one, short, distant little trip, and nothing will go wrong."

"We?" I said faintly. _Is he actually asking me? Is this it? _

"Oh, I meant," the Doctor looked away. "If you want, if you don't have anything immediate to do." He tried not to sound eager. _I think he actually wants me to come!_

"My trip to the bank can wait," I said breathlessly. "Do you mean it? I get to ride in the Tardis?"

"And you know her name, too?" the Doctor snapped. "This will take all the fun out if you guess everything!"

"Nothing could stop me from having fun, even my indisputable knowledge," I said sassily. "Doctor, I gladly take your bet. If you lose, you owe me a _real_ trip where nothing bad happens. If you win…" I lost my train of thought. "Well—what have _I _got to offer a Timelord? I don't know. I'll draw you a picture, or something."

"Ah, Pippin-know-it-all-the-ARTIST!" the Doctor mocked, not unkindly.

"And a good one, too," I shot back. _I think the Doctor likes a little pluck._

For a moment, the Doctor only grinned slowly.

"What are you standing around for? Jibbering and jabbing and… jabbering!" the Doctor whirled in a small circle and made talking motions with his hand. "There's a peaceful, beautiful planet, far beyond the Milky Way, and it's just _asking _for a tourist! Or two!" He went to the Tardis, grasped the knob, and threw open the door, stepping inside and motioning me to follow. He sighed happily and tore off his large brown trenchcoat, and shut the small door behind me, ushering me in hospitably. "So tell me, tell me, tell me, what are you studying?"

"I'm a literature major, I graduate university in four months," I beamed. "I'm a little bit proud of the fact that I have survived the ordeal known as college. Actually, I'm mostly just relieved that I haven't had to introduce myself as a freshman for three years straight and still going strong."

The Doctor actually laughed at my joke. "So—English, then?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Papers and books, that's what I do..."

"Favorite author!" he asked loudly, pointing at me.

"Just one?" I whined.

"First one that came to mind?"

"Charles Dickens!"

"I've met him," the Doctor exclaimed, snapping his fingers and walking up the plank-like floor to the console.

"I'm jealous! And you know that was followed very closely by C.S. Lewis and Jane Austen…"

"Excellent choices, excellent…"

"…and Russel T. Davies," I added, straight-faced.

"Oh, never heard of him."

I looked around the interior of the Tardis, with the warm copper lighting, the tubular pillars writhing about the edges, the glowing spheres in the walls, the circular platform in the center where the console stood, a mass of blinking lights, levers, and screens. The center pillar, like a glass tube of shiny aqua-colored bubbles, worked like a boiling experiment in a beaker.

"So—It's no wonder why you have such a low opinion on the safety of my adventures," the Doctor laughed, watching my expression as I took the scene in. "In my humble—but usually correct, opinion—I think that your legends might be slightly inaccurate."

"I'd be willing to take your word for it, if we didn't just make a bet," I laughed, tentatively putting my hand on the rail and walking up from the Tardis entrance, up to the center platform. "And this is lovely. Very lovely."

"Thank-you," he beamed. The smile disappeared after a pause, and he gave me a look. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask?"

I blinked. "Ask what? Oh right—where are we going?"

"No, that's the second question. You skipped the first."

I stared at him, wondering what I had gotten wrong. Suddenly, it clicked. "OH!" I exclaimed. "The inside! It's bigger on the inside! Right! Uh—boy," I adopted a London accent again. "Blimey! Et's bigga on the insiiiide! How'd y' do thaht?"

The Doctor paused over the Tardis controls and sighed. "You're just playing along now—that must be something in your blasted novel? Or legends? Or whatever the devil it is."

"Sorry," I said meekly. "It really is astonishing to be in here, though. Really. It's incredible. I love this."

The Doctor slowly smiled.

"Plus," I added, "Did I mention I'm scared to death of flying? And space? And time-travel, now that I think about it? Time-travel doesn't even exist in this world. But you're here—so—I'm going to leap at this opportunity. Call me weird if you will."

The Doctor was now grinning like a kid at Christmas. "Miss-Pippin-Who-Is-Scared-To-Death-of-Everything-That-I-Do-and-still-goes-with-me-by-pure-gumption-and-stupidity-and-for-the-sake-of-winning-a-bet—I like you _very_ much!"

I wasn't expecting that. "Really?"

"Aye! You're facing some of your biggest fears right now! You _humans… _you're just… amazing! Always going forward!"

"There aren't spiders, are there?" I asked, looking around.

The Doctor shook his head. "You're afraid of space… and spiders?"

"More so of spiders than of space."

The Doctor threw back his head and laughed. "Oh _you HUMANS! _Spiders? And space travel? HA!"

"They're so creepy," I argued.

"Of _course!" _the Doctor pushed a lever down with his foot, grasped a knob and gave it a turn, pushed five buttons that made musical-like notes and whirled a small circular handle, which cranked like a plastic steering wheel on a toy car. "And now for your second question!"

"Yes?" I said excitedly, clapping my hands. "Where are we going?"

"That, Miss-Pippin-who-thinks-she-knows-everything… you're just going to have to wait and find out!" He punched a gear. "HANG ON!" he hollered. I grasped the edge of the console, on a small handle, clutching for dear life.

The Tardis actually didn't feel as if it left the ground, but the whole structure seemed to shudder, spark, shake like an earthquake and finally jolt heavily.

"That was fast!" I said, breathing hard. _It's like an elevator. Only worse. _

"You've just traveled in space for the first time," said the Doctor, face aglow. "How do you feel?"

"Where have we gone?" I gasped.

"Only about eight hundred years in the future," the Doctor laughed. "Oh, and only about twenty-three thousand light years directly south of planet earth."

"I think I need to sit down," I said, every fiber of my being attempting to grasp the distance, space, and time frame that I was now in. _I can't believe it._ _This doesn't even seem real. _"So I've space traveled… and time traveled… simultaneously, right?"

"That's right! You've got the idea."

I lowered myself to the ground. "What's outside?"

The Doctor smacked one last button on the panel and trotted to my side. "Why don't you come out and see?"

I stood back up quickly. "I'm just freaking out a little here. _That's all,_" I added in a British accent.

The Doctor stared at me quizzically. "Why DO you do that?"

"It feels natural," I shrugged. "I'm a chameleon. My voice changes with the scenario."

"Most peculiar," the Doctor smiled again. "Ready for this?"

"Uh… sure."

The Doctor fairly ran up to the door, whipped it open, and stepped out. I did not immediately follow.

_This feels too easy, _I thought.

"Is this real?" I called out after him.

"Yes!"

"Am I going to wake up?"

"Nope!"

I removed my backpack and left it sitting near the controls, removed my sunglasses from the front pocket and tucked them on my head. I put my cell phone in my pocket and briefly wondered if there was something I should bring—in case something really _did _go wrong. I had bet the Doctor that something _always _goes wrong, but I did not take into account that I was willingly putting myself in danger if I truly believed it.

And isn't it the companions who have a tendency to suffer physically, while the Doctor deals with emotional repercussions and not much else?

"Are you coming?" the Doctor demanded impatiently from the door.

I tightened the laces on my black Converse and pulled my last three items—a pocket notepad, a pen, and my pocketknife—and added these things to my jacket pockets. Then I walked clumsily towards the door, and out into a bright white sunshine and clean, balmy air.

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><p><strong>Coming next: Pippin and the Doctor arrive at Nimrode, and despite the peaceful, tourist friendly atmosphere, there are some darker forces at work that the Doctor will just have to ignore if he hopes to win that bet. But we all know it's a losing battle anyhow.<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Yes, the acid incident DID happen at my university—and to my knowledge—the entire world was <strong>_**not **_**in danger. But then again, this introduction is set after my last final of the day… which is tomorrow. And today I realized that I would need to go to the bank after my final and will be walking through that same path… what a coincidence! If I don't update for years from this point on, it must mean the Doctor whisked me away. ;)**

**If you're interested in the complete overreaction at my university, google "piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiicric acid scare at university" (just without the extra vowels there... lol... I don't want this fan fiction to show up when people google my school. That'd be embarrassing...) find the article from ka2 news. It's amusing.**

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><p><strong>Review and let me know if I should continue =)<strong>


	2. Darkness Lurks in Nimrode

**Dear Reviewers,**

**You all are so lovely! Thank-you for your kind reviews, they make me so happy! I'm sitting in a coffee shop right now, sipping pumpkin chai, listening to Christmas music and reading your charming and inspiring words of encouragement… It's quite wonderful. I hope you're all having an amazing Christmas break thus far.**

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><p><strong>ZombieKillerLevi: <strong>Your evil laugh has me concerned—are you laughing evilly because of my update? Or are you planning some kind of despicable weapon that will make you the greatest zombie killer on this side of the galaxy? I'm opting for the latter. I am glad you are excited for this chapter, because this chapter is much more exciting than the last one!

**Banjobug: **I'm geeking out with you. As in silly fangirl squealing while jumping up and down. Thank-you for reading and reviewing, I hope you like this chapter =)

**Pureangel86: **Hopefully I've changed the story enough (I edited the last chapter) so that if you google the incident, this story won't appear haha. I certainly could not update every day—but I wish I could! I love updating! But I do _write _every day, but depending on how long the chapter is, updating occurs much less often.

**Alexandraya: **See, I need people like you to go to University with me. I lapse into a British accent without realizing it, and an entire class will go silent and then call me out on it. How deliciously awkward. Whereas if you were around, we could just accept each other for our multilingual weirdness and enjoy it =)

**AmandaDesiree: **I'm so glad you've been looking forward to this as much as I have—I get to have a lot of creative license with this story because of the sci-fi aspect, so I hope you enjoy the original spacey-wacey stuff as much I do. Thanks for reading deary!

**Rwy'n-Y-Blaidd-Drwg: **Good heavens, your penname is amazing! It sounds like a foreign language or an elvish name. Thank-you so much for your review, and no worries, I won't wait years and years to update ;) So—can I call you Wolfy? =)

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><p><strong>Instead of using my replies as a bargaining chip to make you all read through the chapter, I put them here in good faith that you are here to read the chapter anyhow! I hope you enjoy as much as I did writing it up. I've had a grand time in space and I am so excited to share my adventures with you ;)<strong>

**Love,**

**Pippin**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

**Darkness Lurks in Nimrode**

"Holy cow," I gasped, nearly blinded by the pure light. "Oh my… we're… uh…"

"Brilliant, isn't it?" the Doctor chortled gleefully.

"Brilliant. Fantastic. Extraordinary!" I repeated, the accent coming back.

We had landed on a simple balcony, circling the edge of a cylinder-shaped skyscraper. Every surface of the cityscape I saw before me was a pure, white marble and reflective. The air seemed tangible with clean, snowy sunlight, but warm and smelling like springtime. All around, windows, footbridges, buildings hundreds of stories high, shining metal vehicles flying through the pristine blue sky—everything reminded me a bit of Coruscant from Star Wars, but scrubbed thoroughly with bleach.

"Welcome to Nimrode," the Doctor narrated happily. "Inhabited by the Nims. Friendly sorts, they adore humans—they have an open door policy for human immigrants. Their government has promised the human race a home if earth ever falls to a global catastrophe."

"So it's safe here," I laughed. "I think you're about to win that bet."

"Thought so," the Doctor winked, and locked the Tardis door behind me. "Fancy a stroll?"

"Absolutely," I gushed, needing to trot to keep up with his long-legged strides.

"The Nims are rather large, delicate creatures," the Doctor continued to explain as we sauntered on. "They are bipeds, like yourselves, but the neck and face are better compared to uh—well—earth creatures like butterflies and giraffes."

"Giraffes?" I squeaked.

"They've got long necks—and big bulbous eyes, like an insect," said the Doctor. "They can live for thousands and thousands of years—so no matter when in time I travel, I can usually guarantee that my friends remain here… Oh look! There's one! See for yourself."

Walking towards us on the parapet was a Nim, walking in a graceful stride and wearing a long blue robe, which concealed most of it's lithe and thin human-ish body. The neck and skin all around was a translucent, iridescent white. The neck reminded me more of a snake than a giraffe, it was about two feet in length, very fluid and flexible in its movement.

The human-shaped face, with giant multi-faceted eyes blinking under long lashes, grew suddenly very happy at the sight of us. She—I assume it is a she because of her beauty—was entirely bald on the dome of her head, and her hands lifted in greeting, the fingers long and spidery.

"Humans!" cried a feminine voice. "Human visitors! Hello, hello!" Without changing her stride, the Nim was suddenly approaching us much quicker, as if she were skating.

"Allo! I'm the Doctor!" the Doctor shook the Nims' hand, by swaying his hand from side to side, not shaking up and down like we do.

"Welcome, welcome to Nimrode, my name is Aest," said the Nim.

I followed suit, smiling politely. "I'm Pippin… How do you do," I said.

Aest began to giggle. "Oh how cute!" she said. "Such a small human, this one is! And you—Doctor—you are not human. You smell of two hearts."

"Timelord," said the Doctor, with some hesitation.

"Oh," the Nim's smile fell from her pleasant, smooth face. "I'm sorry. What happened to Gallifrey was terrible. I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank-you," the Doctor said quietly, actually taken aback. "It happened years ago… thousands, in fact."

"Yes, yes, but we remember its fall with candle services," Aest said tenderly. "Many years does not lessen the tragedy, nor do we let our young ones forget it happened. We use it to caution against war and greed."

"That is good to hear," even the Doctor seemed touched by her words. It seemed quite easy for him to bond with people. It would take only an instant for him to decide that they were friends, and he clearly liked the gorgeous creature before us immensely.

But Aest was moving on, shaking the frown from her face, and putting on a giant smile. "And what brings you here to Nimrode?" she asked.

"Sightseeing," the Doctor shook off the reminder of his past and resumed his cheery demeanor. "Pippin has never traveled in space before."

Aest gasped. "Why, how wonderful! Your first space travel brings you here! How do you like it?"

"Your city is beautiful," I grinned, looking out again over the view. The sunlight continued to beam down gloriously, and under its warm rays, gentle city sounds roved about. The sounds of musical tones, a whoosh of air from a spacecraft, and the humming of large crowds talking—somewhere—gathered the entire scene together in one harmony.

"Oh, isn't she sweet," Aest laughed lightly. "Well—it isn't _my_ city, dear, but I'm glad to represent it when I can. I don't suppose you need help finding the chamber of commerce? Or the city tour? Perhaps you're just looking for a nice café."

"How about that tour?" the Doctor asked. "One of the guides is an old friend of mine. I'd like to see if he works here still. He operates the tours of the planet surface…"

Aest's smile fell. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"The… the planet surface. It has been closed off. The lowest level that someone can live is at fifteen stories—and even then, only those desperate to be out of the public eye will live that close to the streets. Most travel occurs on these very walks and bridges nowadays."

I felt a quiver of fear run across my shoulders and into my heart. _So it begins…_

"Why has the surface closed?" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Because of the…" Aest glanced at me, and lowered her voice. "The rebellion. Surely you've heard about it."

"I have not."

"Oh," Aest looked troubled. "I'm afraid you'll have a very bad impression of us now," she said to me, sadly. "I had hoped that you might visit without… but I see…oh well. What is done is done."

"What exactly is the rebellion about?" I asked, taking the initiative and asking before the Doctor could. I wasn't going to sit around and wait for someone to ask the right question.

Aest looked uncomfortable. "Now, please understand, I don't agree with it at all," she disclaimed quickly. "But there is a small faction of Nims that believe humans are an inferior race and should be deported from the planet."

"Oh," I said in a small voice.

"There is a large group of humans living here already," the Doctor inferred. "A melting pot civilization?"

"Some Nims and humans have even gotten married," Aest clarified. "We do not see them as pets or creatures at all. But—the rebellion—they've gathered on the planets surface, and live there now, disgusted with human presence. They are biding their time and gathering their numbers—hoping to begin a civil war. If they can't win politically—they hope to win by genocide."

"So that area is closed off," the Doctor added. "But you try to carry on life as normal?"

"That's right. The government refuses to bow to their whims. They've taken hostages before, and held protests… that sort of thing. Over a year ago, they invaded a home and killed an entire human family—just to try and prove a point."

"Why can't they be arrested?" the Doctor demanded.

"They hide their identities. They try to spread their propaganda through their computers and flyers, sometimes hacking into the SVS."

"Satellite vision system," the Doctor explained to me. At my raised eyebrows, he added, "It's what they call television nowadays."

"Oh, right, of course, naturally," I said, nervously.

"But it's safe to be here," said Aest quickly. "We'd close transportation if it wasn't. Security has increased immeasurably since the home-invasion incident. It's just the planet surface that is off limits. We have pledged out protection to the humans. A pathetic army of racist Nims will not prevail—I can promise you that."

"Hear that?" the Doctor said to me, but without a smile. "It's not dangerous."

"I almost recalled that bet," I said lightly, but I was still nervous. The Doctor could see that.

"Nope, I'm afraid you'll have to draw me a picture yet," the Doctor said lightheartedly.

"Are you artistic?" exclaimed Aest. "You might like the art museum! It's simply full of artistic treasures from across the galaxy."

I looked at the Doctor, wide-eyed. "Art museum?" I squeaked.

"I think that's a yes," laughed the Doctor.

"I was just on my way there myself, if you'd like to follow me," said Aest kindly. "It's just a few levels down from here."

The Doctor and Aest began to chat with each other merrily, and I wandered along behind them, taking in the sights and not in the mood for conversation. If there's a view to be had, I'd rather view it, and save my talking for later.

The cleanliness of the city was dazzling. Everything shone and sparkled—even to a point of being headache inducing. I'd hardly seen so much white metal before.

We made our way around the circular building, went down marble steps (which felt rather odd to me, clinging to the side of the building with only a tiny-pillared railing separating us from a seventy-storey fall or more…) and down into a lower level. This footbridge, spanning from one skyscraper to another, was shadowed by the walkways above and was a bit easier on the eyes. Potted plants in every corner and a small tree planted in the marble every few feet made the air fresh. The green palm branches scattered dappled light across our faces and the bridge we walked across, till we reached a clear glass elevator.

All the time, the Doctor and Aest were chatting, and I was too busy going, "Oh! Wow! Ah! Oh my! Gorgeous! Curiouser and curiouser!" to pay close attention.

By this time we had finished crossing the bridge, and Aest pressed the buttons for the elevator. "Come on, Pippin," laughed the Doctor, beckoning me after them.

I turned off my tourist face long enough to notice that they were waiting for me, and then joined them inside. The doors slid shut smoothly, and the elevator began to descend. The speakers were playing some ethereal choir of undecipherable words, all clear sopranos harmonizing with each other in a sleepy, dreamlike way.

"The music is lovely," I said happily.

"Our finest women's choir," boasted Aest. "They are famous to the far reaches of the galaxy."

"With good reason! They are _great!_" declared Mr. Tennant. Er, I mean, the Doctor. I wonder what would happen if I accidently called him David? Probably freak out.

The scenery floated past us through the glass windows of the transparent lift, drawing us deeper into the city. I felt a little nervous about being closer to the surface of the planet, but it only brought us five stories down—I lost track, but it left us somewhere at the sixty-story mark, perhaps higher. I tried not to dwell on how high we were—I have an irrational fear of heights. Step stools make me dizzy. And we all know that my five-foot height makes me require step stools on a daily basis. Hobbits cannot be choosy.

With a ding, the elevator let us out, and Aest smiled. "We are here," she gestured around the wide, spacious lobby.

Unlike most earth buildings, this elevator _was _the entrance. There was no introductory chamber with a desk and ticket booth, but rather, a large open space with little walls dotted around the room like an easy labyrinth. All around the big, circular room, large paintings hung against the walls and on the display walls throughout the maze. A large domed, glass ceiling—like the kinds in gazebo gardens, conservatories, or reptile zoo rooms—displayed a high-resolution image of jungle trees, blowing lazily in a breeze and letting artificial sunlight through the domed window—whereas usually, it would just be the floor of the level above.

It made me feel as if I were in a greenhouse, except that the floor was a dark cherry wood, and the walls were white and covered with gilded frames.

"Oh!" I squeaked again. "Where do I start?"

"Try the left," Aest suggested.

I bustled off to the left, and began admiring the first painting. It was a child-like Nim character, kneeling in sunlit grass, to see eye-to-eye with a human child. The little girl looked happy, and was extending a little flower in her hand to the Nim. The background was an incredible sunset, too detailed to seem real. It was like a photograph.

"Wow!" I said.

"This is a composition by Erregis Monstruo," said a male voice. I whirled and looked beside me, and there was another tall, handsome Nim. It looked exactly like Aest, except it had no eyelashes, and its robe was distinctly more manly-looking.

I had bustled off and didn't bother to see if the Doctor and Aest had followed, but I wasn't worried yet—they remained close to the door, looking at a small sculpture beside it that I did not notice. They saw me looking at the them, and the Doctor gave me a wave, as if to say, _It's alright! Make friends! _

"This artist is incredibly talented," I said politely. I said _this artist _because it was impossible to tell if the name 'Erregis' was a boy's name or a girl's name.

"Thank-you," said the Nim, winking.

"Oh—you're Erregis?" I exclaimed, feeling suddenly socially inept to handle meeting a famous Nim artist. "I mean, Mr. Monstruo?" I hesitated feebly.

"Please, call me Edgar, all the humans do," he said politely. "I made this painting to show that Nims and Humans should always be friends."

"I think that's a wonderful thing to paint, Mr. Edgar."

"Just Edgar, dear! What is your name?"

"Pippin, Pippin Strange."

"What a strange name," Edgar teased lightly.

"Yes it is," I laughed, still feeling uncomfortable.

"You must be interested in art, Miss Strange."

"Uh—uh—yes! Very! I love to paint and draw. Just for fun."

"That's marvelous," said Edgar. "I suggest you try the next room, then. It's interactive painting! Certainly up your alley." He winked again. "Well, I need to move on, I'm delivering a lecture next door but I just thought I'd stop in and see my work. I miss it while it's away and sitting in museums, I prefer to have them hanging on my walls around me."

"I feel that way sometimes, too."

"Isn't that how it ought to be?" Egar bowed low, and I curtsied clumsily. "Enjoy the museum, Miss Strange."

With an agonizingly slow pace, he turned and began to waltz away smoothly.

"Oh my," I said out loud. I darted back to the Doctor, only to find that they had moved on, on the other side of the domed room. I crept up behind them and whispered, "Hi—hi—guess what. I just met Edgar Monstruo."

"Isn't he lovely?" Aest beamed down at me as if I were an affectionate kitten. "He is our favorite artist-in-residence. And we've had a great many, but he is by far the best. You know he is our main spokesman for the human race—an inspirational speaker, professor, political activist—he can speak to _any _Nim who does not sympathize with humans, and turn their mind in an instant. He's a very convincing, sympathetic artist."

"Look at you," said the Doctor, with a kind of proud tone. "First time in space and you've already met a renowned artist. Isn't this grand?"

"It really is," I replied, giddy.

"This can happen," the Doctor chided, with a smile. "This _good _stuff. Disaster does not always follow me around."

"I'm glad I was wrong," I laughed. "Plus, this place is inspiring. I can't make you an art piece that even compares to any of it, but I can make something pretty for you, anyway."

"I look forward to it!"

Without warning, I jumped forward and gave the Doctor a quick hug. "Thanks for bringing me."

He tapped my nose once when I pulled away. "Go enjoy yourself. I've got all day!"

"Hehe," I said, blushing from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. _I just hugged the Doooooctooooor, yes I diiiiid, yeeeeessss I diiiiid…_

High on the hug and dizzy with the round room of precious brushstrokes and the finest examples of tenebrism and charcoal miracles, I ventured into the middle of the room, circling around and around the little walls with all kinds of work hanging from them. There was a painting of the Nimrode cityscape, a watery world of mermaid-like creatures, a sculpture of Tom Baker, er, the fourth regeneration; and many others I couldn't begin to describe, splashes of color that formed into pictures the closer you got, watercolors that changed shape, an anatomy study of Nims (they do not have belly buttons!), and a series of greeting cards dated from the very first Valentines Day in Nimrode, the year 1005.

There was a sudden drop of fear in the pit of my stomach, and I turned and hissed, "Doctor?" and then, for the life of me, had no reason to even draw his attention at all. When his head popped up (quite comically I might add) over one of the little walls, he hissed back, "What? What's wrong?"

"No worries," I waved a hand, "I was thinking, and then, well—it doesn't matter. Never mind!"

It was just a little cold and silent for a moment, that's all. I shivered and rubbed my arms, then resumed looking at the works. I listened hard for the sounds of normalcy, and they were there as usual—the peaceful hum of a room full of appreciative Nims, ooing and aahing over the paintings and drawings just like me.

_There is nothing to be nervous about!_

A little tiny voice in the recess of my mind suggested that, if I had paid any attention to the reviews and trailers for future Doctor Who seasons that I had not seen yet, I should have been immediately concerned for a villain that is considered "scarier than weeping angels". But as I had not gotten that far in the series yet, I wasn't sure what I should be on the look-out for. And what could be scarier than a weeping angel, anyway?

_Don't blink, don't even think about it, don't turn your back, _I giggled to myself.

Then, I heard a strange sound. It sounded like a solid bang, as if someone had dropped a very heavy set of drawers against the wall. It was muffled in such a way, that I knew it wasn't from the museum, but another room far beyond.

I glanced around the room, and other Nims were doing the same. Giving each other perplexed looks, and then looking back at the wall, nearest to where I stood.

"What was that?" a female Nim finally said out loud. "Did anyone else hear that?"

"I did," said a male Nim.

The Doctor suddenly strode around the corner, looking all business, with one eyebrow up and his hair standing a little straighter than normal. He and Gaius could have an eyebrow contest…

"Was that the elevator?" another Nim asked, smiling.

"No," said Aest, trotting along behind the Doctor.

Suddenly, a female Nim wearing a red uniform came through a door at one end of the room, and another male a matching uniform came through the elevator. They met in the middle of the room, faces concerned and speaking in hushed tones.

The Doctor seemed to be drawn to them like a planet to a sun. "HELLO, I'm the Doctor," he said loudly. "Can I be of any assistance?"

The two Nims looked at each other in surprise. One nodded, open-mouthed, and the other nodded in agreement.

The female Nim cleared her throat, and addressed the museum occupants, who began to gather in a small crowd near the front of the room.

"I'm very sorry to say this," she said clearly. "But there has been a terrible accident, and we are evacuating the building. The stairs are closed, and so we are going to organizationally allow five at a time to exit the building via elevator."

"What kind of accident?" demanded a human man, standing near my left.

"I… I…" the female Nim paused. "Into the elevator. Quickly now."

I didn't move. Several folks—both human and Nim—walked calmly into the elevator, and when it was full, the female security guard hit the up button.

"Shouldn't they be going down?" I asked the man beside me.

"It's better to get out of a building by going up," hissed the man. "Are you stupid? Why would you get _closer _to the planet's surface in time of an emergency?"

"Sorry, I was just asking."

"Well, shut up."

"Excuse me."

"I said _shut up. _And don't think your getting on that elevator before me, neither."

I opened my mouth to snap back, when suddenly the Doctor stepped between the man and I. My view of the impolite human was blocked by brown trenchcoatiness.

"Don't speak to her," said the Doctor in a possessive, rather dark tone.

I heard the man sigh. When the door for the elevator opened again, he all but shoved an elderly Nim out of the way in order to board it. Another five completed embarking, and up they went.

The male security guard approached the Doctor fluidly, his dark crimson robe swaying from side to side. "When the rest have left," he said quietly, "Come with us. If your offer to help still stands."

"It does!"

"I'm staying with you," I hissed.

"I'd really prefer if you didn't," said the Doctor.

"You're going to send me up there alone?"

"Aest can go with you."

"No offence, but we don't even _know her,_" I whispered fiercely. "I go where you go."

"I said nothing bad would happen," the Doctor said stiffly, "And I meant it. I'd feel much better if you evacuated the building. Go back to the Tardis till I come get you. Then we can… go to lunch, or something."

"How would I know you were going to come back?"

"Because I always do."

I clamped my mouth shut before I said something _really _disagreeable. I looked at the male security guard, as his feet seemed to slide nervously from side to side under his red uniform. His nametag read "Neel".

"What was that bang sound?" I whispered, stepping aside to make way for another group of five that were boarding the elevator. "Why are you evacuating the building?"

"It seems that…" Neel hesitated, looking at the female guard. She simply glanced back at him, and didn't offer any confirmation or warning that he should or should not tell me what was going on.

"Well," Neel continued, "Mr. Monstruo—he was giving his lecture, over in the auditorium next door. Someone from the crowd…" he paused, stepping to the side to make away for a small group of green-headed aliens, with golden snake eyes and giant flappy ears. They boarded the elevator together, and waved forlornly at the rest of us as if flying upwards to their doom. The image was disconcerting.

"Was he shot?" I asked plainly. "Did someone hurt him?"

"Yes—yes. Someone shot him."

The rest of the Nims that stood in the room with us gasped. One female immediately burst into tears. The rest of them began to shift nervously, involuntarily stepping closer to the elevator.

"You've called the authorities, and an ambulance, yes?" asked the Doctor.

"Of course, of course."

"And the shooter?"

"Gone. The audience fled. The shooter fled with them. It's impossible to tell where he or she went. In case the shooter is still about, we are evacuating the building."

"What if he came here, and is being evacuated with everyone else?" the Doctor mused out loud. The crying Nim wailed a little louder.

"There's no connection between the museum and the auditorium, except for this elevator. It's impossible. We got here too quickly."

"I'm not the right kind of doctor you are looking for," said the Doctor, apologetically.

"We know," said Neel, "We've heard of you. We figure you can help us anyhow."

"Some of us remember Gallifrey in candle services," said the female guard. Her tag read something with a letter I didn't recognize, but the letter was shaped almost like an O, so I am going to assume her name was Bora. "But for some, that's all they know. But for some of us—we know of the Doctor, the last Timelord. And we're honored you are here. We know you can help find the shooter."

The Doctor looked back at the elevator and sighed. "Is there any way to get there now? And not waste time? I need to see Mr. Monstruo."

"I'm afraid he is dead, sir…"

"I still need to see him."

"Very well. The elevator shall be up in a second…"

"You said there were stairs. And that they were closed. Why are they closed?"

"They are undergoing renovations, sir."

"That'll do. Lead the way."

Neel and Bora gave each other another glance. "I'll make sure these last few get out, I'll meet you there," Bora said. "Why don't you take the Doctor and his—friend—down to the auditorium?"

"Very well. See you there." Neel motioned us to follow him, and began to speedily glide around the circumference of the room. He reached a painting that—lo and behold—looked like a Picasso painting that I had never seen before—and opened it like a door, pulling the frame away from the wall with hinges on one side.

The Doctor suddenly noticed me behind him, trotting to keep up with them. "Go back to the Tardis," he said sternly.

I opened my mouth to shout 'why?' but didn't want to sound like a whiner.

"We shouldn't split up," instead, I pleaded. "We shouldn't. Why do you think Mr. Monstruo was shot? He was a sympathizer with humans. There's a shooter on the loose. I'll be safe with you."

"Likely as not," said the Doctor, bending down to my level and putting his hands on my shoulders. It made me feel like a very small child. "The shooter is still somewhere in the building. You'll be safe in the Tardis."

This was one of those moments where my life felt like a moment from a Series of Unfortunate Events. The adults won't listen. I can just sense the danger—I shouldn't go out alone. I should stay with him. And he's sending me away. He _wants _me out of his way.

_I'm not his friend, not like Rose or Martha. I'm just a little girl who wanted to see space and spend some time with a hero. I'm a fan. And he's sending the fan away so that he can conduct business as he always has—lonely—with a blue box waiting for him, and a handful of memories that he'll forget in due time. _

"I don't want to lose my bet," I grimaced, stepping away from him.

"You won't," he promised, giving a grim smile.

I forced myself to turn away, and walk slowly towards the elevator. Bora gave me a look of kindness and pity. The doors were just opening. Two other Nims and I were the last to board. Aest must have left while we argued.

The hauntingly beautiful choir was playing again.

The Doctor stopped just before he stepped behind the painting's frame, and gave me a thumbs up. I half-heartedly returned it, and the double doors closed on his fleeting figure and my frown.

The elevator was silent. The two Nims beside me were both males in dark gray robes. One actually had a long, white, silky beard that seemed too perfect to be made of hair. The other was hairless, and had a rather concentrated expression in his dark orbed eyes.

"Is this your first visit to Nimrode?" asked the young, dark-eyed one.

"Yeah," I said nervously.

"I hope you'll come back sometime. This is a very nasty thing to happen on your first visit."

"I suppose it is," I said sadly. "I'm sorry about your resident artist."

"I can hardly believe he is gone."

"Yeah," I said gloomily.

The older Nim with the beard reached over to the control, and pressed another button. With a very smooth stop, the elevator halted very briefly before continuing onward—but _downward._

"We're supposed to go up," I said half-heartedly, knowing full well what was coming next. Are these adventures always so predictable?

"No," said the Nim, his voice deep, and gravelly, like Saruman after eating a very large cake and then regretting that he ate the whole cake and did not share it with his Fighting Uruk-Hai.

"Yes, we are," said the younger. He reached over to change to the buttons, when suddenly the Nim whipped out a small, silver handgun, and shot the control panel. The shot hardly made a sound louder than a macbook error message, but the control panel popped loudly and began to sizzle through a black hole. Two sparks flew out, and I jumped.

"What are you doing?" hissed the younger Nim. "What have you done to the controls? You idiot!"

"Tell me," said the older Saruman-ish one ominously, "Tell me, when has Nimrode become so sick with humans that a Nim might ride in an elevator with one, and not vomit with disgust? Why do you insist on talking with one as if they can understand you?"

"Clearly, she can understand me," Dark-Eyes said, dubiously. "Did you not hear us conversing? Like civilized people?"

The elevator was descending. Down, down, down. The cityscape outside was growing darker, as we drew closer to the planets surfaces. We approached treetops and shorter buildings now. I could almost see the shapes of streets. My heart was beating in my neck, and my stomach had settled far too low in my abdomen, clenching and unclenching itself painfully with fear.

"Oh, so you're one of those contaminated types," said Saruman carelessly. He glanced out the window. "And you deserve to be treated like a human."

"I should hope so," Dark-Eyes said bravely.

"Soooo—let me guess—you're the leader of the rebellion?" I said sarcastically. "You sent one of your men to shoot one of the human's spokespersons, and now, you are trying to flee the building on an elevator—only to discover that you were sharing it with a _human! _So now it's a simple matter of getting me out of the way. Is that right?"

"Far from it," Saruman replied. "And I tell you this only to delight in the look of terror that will soon fly across your emotional, little human face. What I _accomplished _was the removal of one of my greatest enemies. I pulled the trigger myself. I _teleported _into the museum—I don't flee a scene like a human _rustic. _And now I am returning to my country—the surface. The only place free of the vermin."

"Oh my gaaah," I said sarcastically, "The terror across my little emotional human face. It's too much. Really. Terrooor."

"On the surface," continued the SaruNim, "I will place you and your pet Nim in the holding cell with the rest of my hostages from today's—successful—activities throughout the planet. We have plans to execute you, one by one, on public SVS—until the government agrees to deport you."

"Oh," I said, in a shockingly fake, cheery tone. "Oh I see! That is VERY enlightening."

"Ah, there," said the Nim, "There is the look of terror. I do love a human emotion sometimes—it is like watching a rat die in a scientific experiment. Truly beautiful."

"Well!" said Dark-Eyes loudly. "That is _quite _enough! I may disagree with you politically and ethnically but we are still _gentlemen _of Nimrode, are we not? My first suggestion is that you keep the murderous metaphors to yourself." Dark-Eyes was tugging at my elbow. I looked down, and saw that he was simply wrapping his long, white fingers around my arm, and pulling me closer.

Comforted, I put my hand over his.

_Funny. Someone says "I'm going to kill you both on TV" and either I've found the Rue to my Katniss, or he simply just wants a hug before he dies. Or maybe I shall die first? Either way. Pre-death seems like the wrong time to make friends. Or is it the right time to cling close to a perfect stranger that has the same fate? Like this is totally normal behavior. _

And then the elevator grew dark. We were in the shadows of the buildings. There were cobblestone streets, hovercars, glistening streetlamps of eight different signal colors, building fronts of shining white pillars, and many, many Nims—all in armor. All carrying weapons. Running down the streets, disappearing into alleys.

Staring at us inside the elevator, with wicked grins on their angelically built features.

The doors dinged merrily, and opened into a darker, cement staircase. Holding the gun to my spine, the Sarumanim grunted, "Onward, vermin."

Dark-Eyes and I held hands like a pair of children fleeing from bullies. He was much taller than me, naturally, but walked slowly so that he didn't drag me on. We went down seven echoing steps, till we were down below street surface. The elevator doors shut, and instantly, all sunlight and outdoor air seemed cut short and snuffed entirely.

We were in a long, industrial hall that seemed to be going on and on until eternity, till it curved towards the right at the far end, keeping in tune with the circular shape of the entire building. On the right was a wall full of nothing but cement, with a few graffiti marks here and there, and along the left, doors, panels, barred openings, and entrances to more stairwells that led farther down. The hall was wide—like the kind a football team might run through happily before bursting into a field for the game of the season.

Pipes, wires, and cables of all colors (but really, mostly just yellow, red, and black) ran along the ceiling, and every so often, one would spark and the greenish, florescent lights would flicker. I had gone from a toothpaste ad on Coruscant to a setting for a zombie film starring Brad Pitt and Simon Peg with a guest appearance by George Romero. It was altogether hideous.

And so we walked slowly down the endless hall, with Sarumamanimanim prodding us in the backs with his gun point every few seconds or so to remind us of who had kidnapped us and who still remained in possession of the gun. Like we needed any reminding.

Oh, Doctor. How terrible losing this bet would be.

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><p><strong>Naturally, it <strong>_**had **_**to happen. I don't think it would be a proper episode of Doctor Who if a cliché was not stolen, beaten to a pulp, and returned half-dead to a few creative writers who will stir it up and add spices until it's available for BBC coverage, a normal companion-gets-kidnapped-and-needs-rescuing ruse that, in the end, might surprise you—as all marvelous Whooey things do. Wouldn't you agree?**

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><p><strong>Next: Pippin is quite obviously in a pickle as she joins a group of other hostages, all awaiting their turn to be brought into the SVS studio, where a hacker and Saruman's unfortunate Doppelganger have broadcast their murders to the world—beginning with Edgar Monstruo. What exactly happens to a companion without the quick editing and jump cuts—to show how the Doctor is solving the disappearance and inventing a grand rescue? What happens when you are quite <strong>_**literally **_**behind bars and hoping that you aren't next to die?**

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><p><strong>Hope you all have enjoyed this chapter! Read and review, let me know if I should continue! :)<strong>


	3. Two Hackers

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Thank-you so much for your patience! Now that I've graduated university I'm working on updating all the stories I've fallen behind on. Thank-you so much for sticking around! Much love to you all. Personal replies below =)**

**Pip**

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><p><strong>ZombieKillerLevi: <strong>Yes, in this universe, the past journeys to Narnia do exist! I think the reason why there isn't a lot of mental crossover is because surviving by the side of the Pevensies in a medieval world is quite different than being whisked off to space. It's one thing to run from Miraz's sword, and quite another to run from a 7 foot Nim with a high tech gun =) Thanks for the thoughts, I'm going to use that reminder while I'm writing =)

**Rwy'n-Y-Blaidd-Drwg****: **Wolfy! Thank-you for the review! I think you saw it coming because you're probably awesome. Nuff said.

**Avi W. Lovegood: **Thank-you so much for your review. I will not be a regular companion of the Doctor, but this might not be the only adventure. This is what I'm calling my "Christmas Special"—basically I'm the guest star for a single episoe. But I won't say no to future Doctor adventures =) Thanks for actually liking me enough to want to see more of my awkward-self-insertness. That's really sweet.

**Alexandraya: **If only we were friends in real life, we could speak in accents to our hearts content! My roommate and I went to the grocery store once to do homework (Starbucks tables, haha) and I pretended I was a British transfer student. You should have seen the big, enchanted smiles of all the people that walked by—it was like being a celebrity. Lol!

**Softballgirl: **Brilliant Lord of the Beans reference. I love you.

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><p><strong>Warning: some violent content. Do be careful. I wouldn't want you to get a papercut.<strong>

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

Two Hackers

The dark eyes of my Nim companion fluttered nervously as his gaze darted quickly from side to side, as if searching for means to escape. His long, (almost creepily long) fingers were still wrapped around my hand, encompassing it completely. Both of our palms were beginning to sweat.

I felt suddenly ravenous. Heartbroken? Hungry. Bored? Hungry. Scared out of my wits? Even hungrier… What would make this kidnapping even better? A bag of jelly babies. Just for the sake of having something to chew over while plotting escape.

In a moment, I realized I hadn't even _thought _of escape. Sure, escaping from a moving elevator—impossible. Wrestling a seven-foot Nim for his gun was out of the question.

What had I always heard about being kidnapped? There's a minimum chance that the kidnapper can actually shoot straight, and so it is better to run away?

What about an alien race training to kill and holding a gun of the highest technology? _What then? Who invented common sense for kidnapping on another planet?_

I knew that if we were going to be held in some kind of confinement, it would most likely be impossible to break out of. Unless they were stupid, and I was lucky.

But they're not stupid. And I'm terribly unlucky.

_And this hallway is lasting for a very long time…_

"What is your name?" I asked my fellow death row mate.

"Jinn," he said, his voice calm. "What is your name?"

"Pippin," I replied, with an awkward, high-pitched laugh. Because at that moment, our kidnapper pressed his gun into my back again, and it hit a terribly ticklish spot. "Eek, stop!" I shrieked. "I get it, okay? That tickles."

"Just keep walking, runt. Try walking _faster,_" Nim-captor-Mahnna-Mahnna snapped.

I glanced up at Jinn, a little embarrassed, and he was fighting a smile.

"You think that's funny," I whispered.

"Nims don't have 'tickles' or whatever it is you call it," he responded. "It's just a human thing. I wish I could understand it but I cannot. The best I've heard it described is 'laughter in the skin'."

I snickered. "That's not bad…"

"Can you walk any faster?" snarled our bearded kidnapper, jabbing the point of his gun in Jinn's back, instead of mine. But he was addressing the question to me. "We have a long way to go, and you're holding me up."

"Oh, sorry," I said dumbly, "Phew… yeah… boy was I a fool for cutting gym! Why don't you two go on without me, and I'll catch up?"

"Pathetic," coughed Saruman… (I'm sorry, it's the best I can do until we're properly introduced…) "Humans really are unfit to have the gift of speech."

**THUNK. **

_Oh HIIIII floor my besssssssssss FWEEEEEEND…_

_My best friend is the ground and we are, at this very moment, embracing. I've loved the ground (it's quite literally the only thing that catches me when I fall) but why are we cheek to cheek right now? Is it a slow dance?_

"What was that sound?" I asked, my eyes squeezed shut. "It was like a bang and then it was like…"

_Floor!_

"I'm sitting on the floor," I said, opening my eyes. I found myself sitting upright against the wall, chilling beside Jinn as if we were buddies sitting in a high-school hallway waiting for a class to begin, leaning against the lockers with our legs stretched out before us, as if we hadn't a care in the world.

"Please don't tell me that the _thunk_ sound I heard was something hitting my head."

"It was something hitting your heard," said Jinn.

"And now we're in a cell."

"That is correct."

"With about… fifteen other prisoners?"

"Twenty prisoners... hm… How many fingers am I holding up?"

"OH MY GAWD… SIX… SIX FINGERS… I'm dying! Am I dying?"

"I _have _six fingers. We all do."

"Oh! _Oooooh…_ I'm so relieved… I thought I had a concussion."

"He hit you with his gun, and you were knocked unconscious… so that's entirely possible."

"How'd I get HERE?"

"He ordered me to carry you, and then we were here in about thirty seconds."

"You walk that fast?"

"We Nims… well, it's kind of a glide, isn't it?"

"I thought it looked like skating. Yeah. That fast…"

"A lot faster with you unconscious, to be honest."

"Hahaha—ow!" I broke off in mid-laughter. Getting knocked unconscious has certainly progressed since the Nancy Drew days, but recently people are rather inaccurate in their interpretation of people getting hit in the head. It's not like you can just wake up and walk around. _Unless you're captain Jack_, _then it's okay._

Jinn put his hand on the back of my head and felt the nasty bump there. "Very lucky to not be losing _any_ blood. You should have some ice though."

"Yeah, um, pretty tender back there," I said testily, drawing my knees up and resting my forehead against them. "But no scalp wounds—that's good!"

Of course I needed ice… But in the room there was nothing but blank, wide, cinderblock walls. The room was about twenty-five by twenty-five feet, roughly. There was blinking, white florescent lights, a white tiled floor, and one silver door without any handles, visible hinges, or a small customary window. One small picnic-style table decorated the far left, with the door at the right. There was about six Nims in the room, the rest were human.

A human woman walked over to us from the picnic table. She wore a sweater, skirt, a cooking apron, and had her hair dyed to stay a young blond color. She seemed to be in her late forties, perhaps whisked right out of her kitchen where she might have been making cookies or lemonade.

"Hello dear," she said sweetly to me. "You were pretty out of it when you were brought in. How are you feeling?"

_To be honest, death in a hand basket made out of migraines. _

"Fine. How are you?"

"Well enough, dear, well enough. Is this your husband?"

Jinn looked at me, unable to contain a look of revulsion. "No! No! We're not… together."

I snickered. "You're all for humans till someone asks if you're married to one, eh?"

"No offense meant to you," Jinn whispered solemnly, "Really. I'm just partial… romantically, that is… to my own kind."

"I understand."

"Well, all I was going to say," said the human woman, "Try not to look too friendly. They're watching with cameras, you know. If you look too attached to someone, they'll kill them."

"What?" I yelped. "Did you—lose someone?"

"No, I didn't, but you see that young Nim over there in the corner? That one had a wife. They took her away a few hours ago—said that they looked too happy together. Can you imagine?"

"I'm afraid this is looking very grim, Pippin," said Jinn. "And likely to end in death for us both. I won't deny it. Nimrode has truly fallen this time."

"I don't believe it for a second," I insisted. "The Doctor is here, and he fixes everything."

"They blew up the hospital," exclaimed the human woman.

"Not that sort of doctor—THE Doctor."

"The Doctor? What kind of person is that?"

"A Timelord," I said proudly. "The Last Timelord."

"What do they call other timelords?" chuckled the woman. "The Officer? The Janitor? The Captain? The Consulting Detective?"

_Moffat, _I thought, _What a closet cross over fan!_

"I know this Doctor was just in the museum, so he is nearby," offered Jinn. "If the legends are true, I'd say our chances have brightened considerably. But I wouldn't raise false hope."

-"A Satellite Vision System," the Doctor had explained to me. I had taken it in like any other information, not knowing it would be used to publically display my death.

A SVS player didn't look much different than a TV, except it was circular, and sitting on a stand like a make-up mirror. In the middle of a console, very much like Tardis controls, the SVS player sat like it was a place of honor. Around the console, bearded Nims in armor and official-looking gowns sat around it, dialing and pushing buttons and speaking in headsets.

First, they collected eight of us—Jinn, myself, two other Nims and five other humans. Then they brought us to some kind of control room, jamming their fancy rifle butts into our backs to prod us along. They lined us up against the wall, facing the middle of the smallish room, where the console stood on a raised pentagon of flooring.

All around, above, and behind us, the walls were littered with wires, tubes, cables, and breakers. It reminded me of a ship's control room, as long as it was directed by Ridley Scott and starred aliens that burst out of people. Everything glowed puke-green in shining black technology.

"It has been a pleasure knowing you, however briefly," said Jinn, once again wrapped his six, long white fingers around my hand and holding it tightly.

"Likewise," I sighed, caught somewhere between bed-wetting scared and impatient for the rescue. "Um—can we not do 'famous last words' yet?"

"I do not understand?"

"We're not dead yet," I added, "Let's not give up quite yet. Can you tell me what kind of room this is?"

"A SVS station—or at least, something that is made to look like one."

"What are all those people doing at the console?"

"They said they wanted to execute us on live SVS. I can only assume they are hacking into the system now."

A Nim guard was walking up and down the line, gripping his gun in his hands. When he reached Jinn and I, he uttered a deep growling sound. We quickly let go of eachother's hands.

We stopped conversing; it seemed pointless to act like boys that sit in the back row of a freshman class. Too much talking could mean a swift blow to the head.

Suddenly, the screen—and many other hidden screens, all hanging on the wall around the top of the room—crackled with white noise. It came into focus, and there was the Saruman Nim, standing at the opposite end of the room. A geeky looking Nim stood in front of him, balancing a large, heavy camera on his shoulder. Sarumalala was looking right into the lens, and subsequently, into the soul of anyone looking at a screen.

"Good afternoon," he said quietly, his voice rolling like thunder. "You are wondering why I have interrupted your programs. Let me be quick—across the room from me, we have eight prisoners. There are several more that will remain hidden—to ensure our demands are obliged with. We demand that—first, the government shall bring the _One Planet, One Race_ Act back into practice, promising from now on, all humans will expediently and efficiently evacuate the planet and find homes elsewhere. Second, the power of the planet will return to Commander Prin, unfairly exiled for his laws of purity and equality for Nims. Thirdly, his forces will be established in their rightful places—in the palace guard, street officers, federal police force, and minimalist security. These are our demands—three, harmless, reasonable demands that will set free the Nims from their tourism bondage they've created. It will set them free of obligation and traditions that are not our own. It will set free those who have been wrongfully shoved and buried into stereotypes in their own planet. It will set free the obligation to play along. ONE PLANET. ONE RACE. The ancients prospered for these reasons, and Nimrode will prosper again."

He looked at us, and nodded to the camera-Nim. That Nim swung around and panned the camera across our faces. When it reached my face, I mouthed the word "_Basement." _ To the untrained eye, it would have just looked like a silent plea of _Help me! _

In a way, it was both. And I hoped the Doctor was watching.

The camera went back to Sarumoomoo.

"These are our prisoners," he declared, with a tragic flare. "I am not a murderer. I am for equality for Nims. But know this—these prisoners, Nim and Human alike, will die, if our demands are not met with. These are not the words of a mad man. These are the words of representative—I have thousands upon thousands of followers. We are the majority. We vote for ONE PLANET. ONE RACE. For Commander Prin, our wise and gifted leader. We are fair and we will have our home back."

A dramatic pause.

"I am on the airwave of 1138," he continued, "I will now await the call of our current government, to confirm that we will be honored in our requests."

"Sir," said a voice at the console, "We're receiving the call."

"Put it through," he replied.

A robotic voice sounded throughout the chamber. _"Now opening airwave 1138."_

A scratchy feedback sound, and then a throaty, frightened voice. "We will not comply with a terrorist," said the voice, "This is Commander Siska—your _current _commanding officer—speaking. Officer Serin, we will not comply until you release your prisoners. Then we shall negotiate with you, as gentlemen of Nimrode."

_Officer Serin? Saruman? It was darn well close enough, okay?_

The cameraman panned from the console back to Serin, who shook his head grimly. "And we do not 'negotiate' with dictators," he growled, nodding to the cameraman.

The cameraman swung around to the line of prisoners.

One of the guards came forward, holding a mighty-looking, high-tech rifle.

"Please, don't!" shrieked Jinn.

The guard threw his gun over his shoulder, unused. He pulled a sword from his belt, instead. With not so much as a flourish, or any dramatic pauses whatsoever, he went to the first in line—a Nim, younger than Jinn, equally as beautiful and terrified—and plunged the sword in his abdomen.

The Nim exhaled, eyes filling up with tears, and slumped to the floor.

The cameraman focused back on their leader.

"Second denial? Second victim," Serin said cruelly, "Edgar Monstruo suffered for his consistent persecution in his art and teachings. And now this nameless being shall suffer for your continual refusal to treat us as an honorable political party. More deaths will follow in the next hour. I will make this same declaration in ten minutes. I will give you time to discuss and consider our demands."

The red light at the console turned off, the cameraman put the camera on the ground and stretched his shoulder. Sarum—I mean, Serin—went to the console and began to talk in a low voice with his compatriots.

Jinn's tears flowed silently. This time, I took his hand. I tried not to look at the Nim on the floor, who was still bleeding profusely, but he was not dead yet.

Suddenly, there was a shrill feedback sound, like one might get with a microphone and an amp at a cheap concert. Several of the console-workers began hitting buttons, looking around wildly.

"What is going on?" barked Serin.

"We're getting another signal, sir," replied one, panicking.

"Another SIGNAL—do you mean someone else is hacking into the same channel?"

"Yes, sir!"

"A second hacker?" mused another. "That doesn't seem possible. Who else would be hacking?"

"It's just Commander Siska, trying to regain control," explained one.

"No, it's not. He wouldn't hack. He'd just switch command centers," said another. "This is from someone separate. It's coming from an unknown source."

Serin roared. "FIND OUT WHAT THAT IS."

Suddenly, the screen flickered. The red light on the console turned on, and everyone looked at the camera-Nim confusedly.

"My camera is off! It's not me!" he shrieked.

The SVS system was back on, and on the screen, the Doctor himself looked through. I half expected him to start flailing on and reciting, _Bingle bongle, dingle dangle, lickety too_ _lickety ta, ping pong, lippy toppy too ta! _but no such luck.

The first thing he said was, "Hullo? Is it on?" while flicking the screen several times. Then he paused, eyebrows cocked. "Oh, I see," he mumbled. "Make it two ways, then!"

A fumble, and a clickity buttony-time-wimey beeping sound.

"Perfect!" the Doctor grinned and put on his glasses. "I can see you all now."

The room went into silent chaos. Serin stood his ground, glaring at the SVS screen. Many of the console runners tried to duck down and hide from the screen's reach. Others began slamming random buttons, trying to turn it off.

"Well—first things first, then, you've got a very new friend of mine. I'd like her back."

The Doctor was facing Serin, at the other side of the room. Us prisoners were against the other wall. He couldn't see me, but he knew I was there. That was comforting.

"Second of all, this—this shooting thing—has got to stop. I don't like guns. Never have."

A chorus of growls.

"Fourth—wait. Third. Thirdly I've got interesting, powerful things right next to me—don't bother looking, you can't see it on your screen. I've got something powerful that will make you regret ever kidnapping my friend and threatening innocent people."

"He's bluffing," Serin hissed.

"I most certainly am not bluffing!" the Doctor exclaimed, indignantly. "Why would I bluff when lives are at stake?" He grew very serious, his eyebrows furrowed and teeth gritted as he spoke. "I am the Last of the Timelords. I've laid waste to civilizations and I've committed genocide. How hard do you think it would be to remove a small threatening faction of terrorists? Hear THIS. I will find you. You will be brought to justice."

Serin snarled. "You're nothing and you have nothing to stop me."

"I've got psychic paper," snapped the Doctor. Then he stopped, and reconsidered his statement. "Er—wait. I don't. I don't have it. I gave it to someone. I made a deal with someone, that nothing bad would happen—but I couldn't ignore that it usually does. I may—or may not—have slipped a little psychic paper into someone's pocket, as a precaution. Oops. Forget that plan—I don't have psychic paper. Never mind. I lost the bet. I'm sorry."

Shell-shocked, I slipped my hand into my pocket. A small wallet was suddenly in my hand—so what was this? Reverse pick pocket? No one paid any attention to me as I opened it, and read the following…

_I AM bluffing. I don't have something powerful sitting next to me—I'm sitting in it. I'm back in the Tardis. The Tardis can translate languages, it's really helpful with traveling and all, but I've discovered something new today—it can do a bit of scrambling as well, if I play my cards right. Sadly it seems to only scramble one thing—luckily for us, it's the signal controlling the weapons in the hands of your captors. I can't see you but I am trusting you'll take the opportunity to get away while they're scrambled—just a little suggestion. When I say run, you RUN. Got it? Clever girl. I'd bring the Tardis in, but they've got some kind of protective shield. I can't land in there. So when you run, run fast, run hard. Come back to the surface. I'll find you. _

"Psychic paper?" scoffed Serin. "He is bluffing."

"Oh, all right, you caught me, I am bluffing," the Doctor smirked. "I'm just going to fly into a rage and press a bunch of buttons to try and look intimidating!"

_Look at me, I'm a target! _I mentally quoted the eleventh, giggling. I passed the paper to Jinn, quietly. He read it, dark eyes widening in shock.

"How?" he whispered.

"Just pass the word," I said, "And see if one of the Nims can't carry the injured one?" I returned the paper to my pocket, and then turned to the apron-wearing woman beside me. I whispered, "When the man on the screen says RUN, you run. Pass it along."

Wide-eyed, she nodded and turned to the next.

Soon, the whole line of prisoners were whispering to each other, while the Doctor rattled on and on in a strange monologue while hitting a series of melodic buttons.

"You know the funny thing about me is?" he quipped. _Beep._

"I am probably your only hope for peace!" _Beepity beep._

"The only chance you have to get out of this mess is to run away or face the consequences—you are surrounded, did you know that? You're still on the surface, have you ever thought about that? There are hundreds of stories between you and the atmosphere—so if you've ever considered this wouldn't go well…"

_Bop, bop. Pop, pop. Beep beep peep._

"You may have just considered that there wasn't going to be an easy escape for you!"

_Whir, screech. Beep._

"And FURTHERMORE!" He continued, hair askew as he abused every button the Tardis had that would make a noise that might sound important. "I'd speak for you to your nation if I wasn't so upset that you've got my friend."

"Enough," Serin barked. He glanced at me. "Kill the friend."

"NO!" screamed the Doctor.

I barely had time to think before a guard raised his gun towards me, and fired.

The gun fizzled, and a robotic voice said flatly, _Command not recognized. Please check manual for changing language settings. _

"RUN!" screamed the Doctor.

Everything flew into chaos. All the Nims at the console pulled out handguns, and began shooting to no avail. Serin drew a long knife. We all ran in different directions, the crowd dispersed like cockroaches out of a light.

And me? I ran like hell for the door.

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><p><strong>Review, my darling whovians, and I will be that much quicker with my updates. Sounds like I'm trying to bargain, but it's true! I feel inspired to update based mostly on the reactions of my readers. So please send me your thoughts! xoxo<strong>


	4. The Repetitive Conundrum of Escape

**Dearest Reviewers;**

**You're all brilliant. I love you. **

**Sincerely, Pip.**

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><p><strong>Personal replies<strong>

**Avi W. Lovegood: **That is quite a compliment! I couldn't possibly imagine that anyone would want to see me as a full-time companion, but it's so sweet of you to say so!

**PenguinsAreFancy:** You are completely right, I was operating under the assumption that most readers were coming from previous Narnia self-inserts where description is incorporated more. But I didn't think to include much here. I have worked some into the chapter—thank-you for noticing =)

**Softballgirl:** I'm glad you picked up on that, heh heh…

**Undapper Thoughts:** Aw, thank-you! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**ZombieKillerLevi:** Teehee, yes, definitely quoting "I'll Make a Man Out of You" from Mulan. Oh yes, and Serin is much faster than Pippin—but due to the fact that all the prisoners ran different directions at once, his reaction reflex is a little slow. And I am so humbled by your compliment. I'm so glad you like my story. It just thrills me from top to bottom. I hope you enjoy this chapter =)

**Rwy'n-Y-Blaidd-Drwg:** Aw, Wolfy, don't cry! (makes a Moffat face) Or… do cry. Muahaha.

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><p><strong>Note, if any of you would like to see my facebook page (I understand a few of you have had trouble) just go to my profile page (on this site) and copy &amp; paste the link into your search bar, but before you press enter, get rid of the spaces and replied "dot" with an actual period. Or just search Pippin Strange. It'll say "writer" underneath and has a colorful drawing of me as the profile picture. Good luck!<strong>

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

The Repetitive Conundrum of Escape

At first, it was only shock. The Nims blinked, and in horror, realized their carefully planned terrorism was bleeding at the seams. Instantaneously, they were pouncing on prisoners, or at least the sounds of struggle erupted as I ran for my life. It was a nightmare that—like an explosion—gave me an adrenaline that pushed me to the doorway before I had time to think. The Nims were crazy, pulling knives from their belts when the guns were useless, and swarming the room—

And I was out the door, concentrating, fleeing for my life. Nims—good Nims, and humans much faster than me, were barreling past me. A rule of zombie apocalypse is not to be fast, but just faster than someone else—was this the same case here? Was I simply going to be run down and caught, when the others took advantage of the scramble and escaped to safety? It didn't seem fair—darn my short legs!

The hall was dark, merely an extension of the hall Serin had forced Jinn and I down less than an hour ago. I did not know where I was for sure, but the walls and floor were the same—cold, cement, buttons and panels, and cables and wires running along the ceiling. The sounds of a massacre screamed and thudded back in the control room.

If I could just make it to the end of the hall—to the elevator—and go back to the art museum, I could find the TARDIS from there.

But I wasn't fast enough. I heard clicks, the clicks of shoes, and they were coming fast. A Nim was pursuing me. But suddenly, I realized there was a door looming on my right—it was hanging open about an inch. Just before the Nim rounded the curve of the hall and saw my fleeing figure, I pushed through it, and slammed it behind me.

For a moment I could only concentrate on the little red light that blinked above the door. It was locked—and the footsteps passed it by, continuing on down the hall.

Breathing heavily, I turned and surveyed the room I was in. It was outside of the prison cell that Jinn, the others, and I had been kept in. With a heavy heart, I wished I had been more noble—waited for Jinn, perhaps, or at least ran the same direction. Without him, I felt that I must rely on my own stealthiest and wits—and me, being a brainiac but too clumsy for stealth, felt incapable of relying on either.

But I didn't feel too guilty for long. After all, Jinn had run just as far and even faster than I did. He'd forgive me for going into panic-and-flee mode, as I held no grudge against him for doing the same.

I was in the guards' room. A wide window on the left looked into the cell that was now empty. Glowing controls lined the sill, and empty chairs sat around the room. It was spooky, and deathly quiet, like a sound studio. I snuck forward, taking care not to disturb anything in the room, in case the guards came back. There was a small door at the far end, and the light above it was green.

Slowly, I cranked the handle downwards, and pushed the door open out onto a sickly florescent-lit stairwell. The cement was echoing horribly just from the three steps I took onto the landing. There were stairs leading even deeper beneath the surface than my level. Up—I wanted to go up, to the TARDIS, to the Doctor, and not die on the way.

Not dying would be good. I would write a hit song, and it would be called _Not Dying. _Wait, GlaDOS already did that—and suddenly, _Still Alive _was stuck in my head.

"This was a triumph… I'm making a note here…"

_Oh, shoot, you lying cake, _I thought angrily, unable to express my fear in any other way. I wanted to curl up on the stairwell and cry my way to heaven, but realized the fruitlessness of this venture.

So, up the stairs I went, taking care to not let my Converse tap the stairs too loudly, which would cause a rhythmic disturbance that would echo up all sixty-plus floors.

Up eight steps, turn, tiptoe across landing, up eight steps, turn, tiptoe—the disjointed square pattern of the stairwell, like any stairwell you'd find in a parking garage or an old dorm, began to make me feel dizzy. I stopped paying attention, and just concentrated on each individual stair and making the least amount of noise possible.

There was no warning. Nims make no noise in their glide from stair to stair—in the silence, suddenly, around the corner—a huge Nim stood, almost seven feet tall like the rest of them, with a long neck and huge black eyes. This was one beardless, like Jinn, but dressed less ornamental and more like a soldier. It carried a gun which—I hoped—was still useless, but it looked as surprised to see me as I was at seeing him in return.

I was so terrified, I didn't even scream. I just stood halfway on one of the stairs, frozen, one foot poised to take another step.

"Human!" It finally growled, raising its gun at me. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"No-no-no," I stuttered in an unfortunate Chuck Bartowski voice, my mind scrambling for some life-saving story. My Jack Sparrow mindset was too late in providing an imaginative alliterating riddle. I had nothing to defend myself with…

"HERE!" I screeched suddenly, pulling out the psychic paper from my pocket. I flipped the little wallet open and held it up for the Nim to see. I had no clue what I wanted it to say—I just hoped with every ounce of my being that whatever it was, it would save my life.

The Nim slowly lowered its gun, stepped down a few steps, and held out its hand.

Survival mode in full-blown scream mode, I calmly handed him the paper.

"Experimental human pet subject?" he read out loud, looking at it, and raising his eyebrow-wrinkles at me. "You know, it says here you've got a implant that will rip you apart from the insides out if you try to leave whomever your master is."

I replied coolly, trying to be less of a Chuck and more of a Sarah. "I'm running an errand for my master. I have freedom in this building alone. I'm aware of my limitations."

The Nim handed the paper back to me, and cocked his head to the side, studying me critically. I'm sure he was wondering why I wasn't wearing a collar.

"Don't lose that paper, otherwise you might be executed with the rest of the human captives," he said.

"I'd rather be a pet than dead," I said honestly.

"These little science projects are so repulsive," the Nim scoffed, giving me a look of disgust. With an impatient wave, he walked past me and continued down the stairs.

I resumed walking up the stairs, and was aware of the Nim's glance, as he peered over the railing and watched me for a few flights. I walked as if I was not in a hurry.

When finally, his face was only a blotch down below and it withdrew into the landing, I broke into a trot. When I heard a floor entrance shut below, I began to run again.

I didn't know how high to go, but I knew that the higher I went, the safer I'd be. I didn't run into anymore Nims, and soon realized why.

I was on the stairwell that was under construction. The one that Neel and Bora, the security guards, hadn't wanted us to use to leave the art gallery, but allowed the Doctor to use in order to reach the auditorium.

When I came around yet another repetitive corner, I realized the stairwell in front of me was literally non-existent between floor landings. I was on the edge of nothing, and backed up, realizing how close I had come to stepping off a ledge.

Instead, there was a small ladder installed between the two landings. So I had the option of going through the door for the floor I was on, or go vertically up the ladder, and hope my vertigo wouldn't make me fall to my death.

_I hate heights, I hate them hate them hate them. _

But I knew this stairwell could get me back to the museum. If the Doctor came this way to get to the auditorium, then he might have even used the same ladder. If he could do it, so could I.

I dried my sweaty palms on my jeans. My hands are small, the smallest hands—according to my friends—that anyone has ever seen. My hands hadn't grown since I was about ten years old. It's no small wonder that despite being a university senior, I've always been mistaken for a freshman in high school.

I digress, but the point is, my hands could barely grip the rungs of the ladder. With a deep breath, I swung out onto the ladder, holding it tight. With a prayer, I stepped onto the next rung. Then another, and another—it was a long ladder. I wasn't a particularly heavy person, in fact I possess a rather slim figure, but I've still managed to hover a few pounds over the recommended weight while refusing to exercise. I was regretting that now, as I climbed—one foot after another—wondering if this would be easier if I'd kept up at the gym. _Ugh, screw society and your obsessions with the gym! I DO WHAT I WANT! _

I didn't look down, I knew that I would get dizzy and likely fall. With every rung I said another prayer, till I was at the top, and happily getting started on the twenty-third Psalm.

There was only a small railing to hang onto, but it was out of reach. I propped up my elbows on the floor, letting my feet continue up the ladder, till I could hold out my hand and grasp the railing. I finally managed to hold onto the railing with both hands, take my last step from the rung to the landing above, and crawled on my hands and knees away from the edge.

"Amen," I said slowly, leaning against the wall as I stood. I felt like I had sealegs and shuddered, taking my time before resuming my walk up the normal stairs.

On the next floor, the landing door had a window. The others had not. I looked into it and saw, to my delight, that there were restrooms and large double doors. Those double doors could lead into the auditorium, where Edgar Monstruo was tragically killed, which meant I was close.

I opened the door quietly, slipped into very human-looking hall. It looked like any theater hall in a university or office building, right down to the orange speckled commercial carpet. The sign on the double doors read

NO SEATING FOR PRODUCTIONS FROM THIS ENTRANCE

EMPLOYEES, SPEAKERS, AND THEATER PERSONELL ONLY

_Bingo. _

I tried to open them. They were locked.

_And I need to pee._

I ran into the bathroom, noting they were separated by Nim and Human, not male and female_. _I guess the purists managed to segregate the bathrooms and not much else. So, TV, books, and movies never mention this—but this little heroine needed to respond to natures call. This is reality—even in the middle of a high-tension escape. I doubt Tom Cruise would stop to pee in the middle of an impossible mission, but I was not trying to one up him.

After washing up, I glanced at myself in the mirror, and hissed with surprise at the sight. My hair was, as per usual, a curling mass of brown, but I had a dark purple bruise creeping onto my forehead from my hairline. With the pink cheeks and the gray-blue eyes, it was turning my otherwise deadly white face into a colorful spectacle. Like a Technicolor dream sequence from a Disney film.

_Thanks for smacking me in the head, Serin, _I thought sarcastically. _It's kind of B.A. though… _I wiped my hands on some weird auto-paper-towel thing that said in a robotic voice _"Your hands are now dry."_

The hand dryer startled me, and I leapt for the door, and was out of there in a flash.

The hall was too quiet. I felt like I was in a haunted house, waiting for something to jump out at me. At the end of the hall was another door, with a sign that read;

_NOW ENTERING PUBLIC AREA_

_EMPLOYEES MUST WEAR NAME TAGS BEYOND THIS POINT_

I prayed for the museum, or some room with access to the bridges that spanned the skyscrapers, hoping for anything that would lead me to safety. I pushed open the doors and squinted at the brilliant light.

Before me was a long white hallway without doors or windows, except for a small silver door far, far down the end. The walls shimmered like white silk, almost as if they were moving. I'd assume the floor was marble, except the surface seemed too pure to be rock. The atmosphere felt very cool, and even the air smelled kind of sweet.

I slipped lightly, the tread of my shoes doing very little to keep me steady. When I reached out to balance myself, my hand went _right through the wall. _They weren't really walls at all! More like fountains! Fountains of… milk? What lived in the ceiling, cows?

The white liquid didn't leave any wetness or residue on my hand when I jerked it back in surprise. It fell in parallel slits from the ceiling in a smooth stream, like fondue. For appearance sake, I swear, it really looked like milk. Or vanilla fondue. Take your pick. If you are lactose intolerant, soy milk. _Ta da._

Startled, I decided to experiment. I put my hand through the left wall again, palm up, and the streaming liquid just parted ways around my hand, and I could see through on the other side—it appeared to be a small janitors closet. Again when I withdrew, my hand was dry. I turned and looked at the right side, gathering my courage, and put my head through. The wall fell down around my shoulders, with no feeling of hot or cold. I was looking into a lobby on this side—a bright, white, Tony Stark-esque plaza with huge windows on the far side, waiting chairs, and potted plants.

There were Nims _everywhere. _I jerked my head back into the hall, and hoped that none of them saw me. They all were dressed in soldier-like garb, which meant I was still not among friends. I was not safe yet.

As if to answer my question, about twenty feet down the hall, a Nim suddenly stepped through the stream and began walking towards the silver door. It had its back to me, and never even noticed I was there. It passed through the door without turning around.

I breathed a sigh of relief. So, that's why there's no doors or windows—you just walk through this stuff. Employee access combined with an art piece. It's certainly more economical than having one of those wall-waterfalls to decorate the back of a spacious lobby.

So what's on the left, then? The janitor closet was small. I trotted a few more feet, then stepped through the left stream, hoping nothing nasty was on the other side.

It was just a plain room, with a table and chairs. A board on the wall had tons of little notes in handwritten Nimrodian language, with writing utensils lying around messily.

On the other side of the room was a large window that looked onto a second hallway. I had no access to it—

And suddenly, there was the Doctor, strutting by with a serious expression on his face. He passed by and went straight onward.

"DOCTOR!" I yelped, running over to the window and slamming both hands on the glass. The glass felt thick and my palms made almost no sound against them—but the Doctor heard me.

Eyes huge behind his glasses, and hair sticking straight up as if he'd been electrocuted, he was back at the glass in a millisecond. He slammed his hands against the window in reply, mouthing, "Are you all right?"

I nodded, my whole body relaxing at the prospect of being rescued and safe again. At my reply, the Doctor's face melted into a relieved grin. He began to speak very fast, but I couldn't hear anything. _Soundproof glass? Oh, bugger._

I tapped the glass and tapped my ear, shaking my head. "I can't hear you," I said sadly.

The Doctor gave me a strained glance and mouthed, "But I can hear you." He tapped his ear and nodded for emphasis.

I tapped the glass. "It's too thick, the only exit is that milk-wall," I said.

"It's okay," the Doctor said, talking in slow motion so that I could read his lips. "Go back the way you came, and head for the…" he blew on the glass and drew a little set of stairs in the steam. "_Stairs._ Go up—one more floor."

"And you'll be there?" I asked hopefully. I didn't worry about simplifying my sentences, he could hear me. That was comforting.

The Doctor shook his head. "I need your help," he said. "I cannot get to the stairs from here."

"What am I supposed to do?" I said, fighting the urge to whine, cry, or generally make a tearful fool of myself.

The Doctor blew steam onto the window again, and wrote

_Level D11_

_8__th__ door (on right)_

_big panel_

It began to fade, but he kept writing.

"Hold on, hold on," I said, running to the board on the wall. I grabbed a half-written piece of paper, turned it over on the blank side, and began scribbling with the weird writing instrument, which used a bright purple ink that smelled like Pepto Bismol.

_Level D11, 8__th__ door (on right), big panel. Look for the # 332- that's the weapons signal._

_Power down (use lever or dial) till it goes to 0. Passcode- 22414382831497235._

"Is that it?" I asked, tossing the pen aside and crumpling the paper, holding it close to my chest like a lifeline.

The Doctor nodded solemnly, wiping the steamed numbers away.

"Where am I supposed to go after?" I said, my voice thick in my throat. I didn't know what the Doctor was asking me to do, but it felt important. It felt life-threatening and I didn't like the fact that someone important was relying on me. I didn't want to let him down and I was terrified.

"Go down the hall, away from the stairs," the Doctor mouthed slowly. "The eleventh door is an exit. Can you do this?"

I nodded, numbly.

"Don't be afraid," the Doctor urged.

"I'm somewhere between bed-wetting and a near death experience," I muttered. Louder, I added, "Am I helping? This is helping the planet president—or Aest, or something? Am I turning off the guns, for real this time?"

The Doctor said _Yes _emphatically. "The TARDIS could not hold them for long."

"Okay," I said, lingering for a moment. I hated to lose sight of him right after finding him, but I couldn't get to safety from here anyhow. He'd given me a way out and something important to do, and I needed to do it.

"Bye, Doctor," I said, trying to keep the frightened edge out of my voice.

"Bye, Pippin," he replied, in the same manner. He left the window, and I felt emptiness roll out inside of me the way a land lies flat in a calm before a storm.

I turned and thrust my head under the white sheet, finding the milky hallway empty again. Stepping through, I shook off the weird, tickly feeling, and went back to the stairwell door. It was kind of a relief to step through the door into a place where one cannot be surprised—

"Hey, you shouldn't be in here," said a rough voice suddenly, and huge, white fingers clutched my arm and jerked me roughly away from the door. I was dangerously close to being dropped unceremoniously from the ledge, past the ladder, and to my death.

"Please," I cried, looking up into the face of the Nim that had been standing, unnoticed, behind the door. It was dressed in coveralls and had a black, shiny beard, braided and slung over his shoulder. The coveralls were dirty and I assume he was there to work on the stairwell repair. "Please, I'm, I'm just here to, to, to," I was stuttering horribly.

"Spit it out!" snarled the Nim, its' grip tight on my arm. He shook me, pushing me closer to the ledge. "Spit it out, or I'll drop you! What are you doing in here?"

"I'm a pet, I'm a pet," I sobbed. "I have a paper."

"I don't care about any paper," the Nim snapped, "Stop blubbering. How'd you get out here? This isn't a place for humans to crawl around."

"I'm a pet and I'm on an errand!" I was hyperventilating without abandon now—I'm not a crier, but I usually make strange little hiccupy sounds that resemble crying, without actually having tears. I _really _didn't want to get tossed from the ledge.

"Oh, shut up, dumby, I'm not going to drop you," the Nim pulled me back towards the door, away from the edge. He let go of my arm. "Nims don't keep pets! Those that do are just terrorists."

With a deep breath, I realized this Nim wasn't one of the surface-rebels. I didn't know whether to throw myself in for a big hug or just step off the ledge for the embarrassment I felt.

"This is a construction area, are you aware of this?" the Nim said, in a firm tone.

"Yes, yes, I'm on an errand, I swear," I repeated. "Please, I'm just trying to get to the next floor. That's all."

"Listen, you're obviously an idiot, so I'm going to make this very clear—" The Nim bent down and looked into my face, his giant dark eyes narrowing into judgmental slits. "This is a dangerous area. You ought to have taken the elevator. Got it?"

"Got it!" I shrieked.

The Nim blinked, my pitch obviously painfully high. "I'm going to let you through, just this once. I swear to all things holy, if I catch you here again, I will beat you black and blue and turn you in. All right?"

"All right," I said fervently.

The Nim straightened, and his face appeared to soften. "Okay, okay, quit losin' your marbles," he tentatively patted the top of my head. "I'm not great with kids, all right? If one of 'em were to die out here on the stairs, my job's in jeopardy, okay? Just wipe your face and try not to be stupid, right? You okay with that?"

"Yes, yes," I promised. "Thank-you." I turned and walked stiffly up the remaining stairs. The railing was missing, and only an orange tape separated me from the long shaft below. The construction worker watched me go up, shook his head, and cursed under his breath.

I was on the next landing before I knew it, panic mode dipping into neutral mode. The sign outside the door said _D11. _I pulled the door open and stepped into a regular-looking hallway, with plain walls and a linoleum floor. With a glance at my paper, I ran, counting silently till I reached door eight. I opened the door and jumped inside—mere seconds before a random door opened, and another Nim—this one was a rebel, for certain—stalked out, gun at ready, and went out onto the landing. _I hope the worker won't be hurt, _I thought, pressed against the wall, waiting till the landing door clicked shut. Then I closed and locked the door of the room I was in.

The room was glittering with panels, all blue-ish gray, covered in buttons, levers, wires, lights, screens, and all other ridiculous electronic things. _Why me? _I thought helplessly. _Damnit Jim, _I joked to myself, _You're the Doctor, and I'm not an electrician!_

The paper said _big panel. Look for the # 332- that's the weapons signal._

The whole wall was panels—big panels! Big, blue, panels, with cascades of technology giving birth to complicated looking things all over the darn place—

With a sheepish double take, I realized that there was a black panel against the far wall that was towering above the others. They were all about eight feet tall, from floor to ceiling, as it were. The black panel was so tall that the top of it jutted through a hole in the ceiling and continued against the wall of the room above.

"Howdy," I said out loud, running over to it and looking for the number 332. A tiny screen, with red digital numbers on it like an old alarm clock, read a series of numbers: 342, 352, and 332. Beside it, there wasn't a dial or a lever. There was a long handle sticking out of the console, like a water pump in an old pioneer movie. I pulled down on the handle, and all three numbers decreased by two or three. I pushed it up and down again, and they went into the two hundreds.

"This is easy," I snickered, feeling the stress lessen a little. I pumped the handle twice more, and it was down to 182, 192, and 172. Again, and it went down to 102, 112, 92. And then suddenly, a beeping began to sound. Not too loud, not much louder than a microwave. A robotic voice came over a speaker system and said drolly, _Calling all replacements to weapons control. Signal decreased to critical level. Please increase signal or risk misfire. _

I tried to pump faster. _Calling all replacements to weapons control—_the voice repeated. Somewhere, I heard a door slam. _Signal decreased to critical level. _

Passed the fifties mark. Pump, pump—zero!

_Please increase signal or risk misfire._

Suddenly, a small square on the wall shifted, whirred, and a small computer screen popped out. There was a small keypad beneath it. The screen read _Passcode required._

The robotic voice droned on. _Calling all replacements to weapons control…_

I heard footsteps on the stairwell.

I punched the code into the computer. _Calling all replacements to weapons control…_

_224143… _I paused, almost hitting the seven instead. _828314… _The footsteps on the landing were close. I heard a yell, and a thump. Was the worker threatening to push the rebels off the landing too?

…_97235._

"SYSTEM DEACTIVATED," finished the robot voice, and I ran like a spitfire out of the room.

Three doors down—eleven was the exit. I was just through the door just as the landing door opened, and the Nims poured through, guns at ready.

"Check the weapons control now," said a harsh voice—Serin's voice. "I'll cover the end. They would have gotten out this way."

I was standing on a balcony, stuffing the paper in my pocket and relishing—just for a second—the cleanliness of the air. It was a beautiful, marble, white view of the whole city-scape. I looked down and was grateful to see that the surface was many, many floors below. So what was Serin's people doing so far up?

With horror, I realized that they must have taken the whole building—or maybe the city? I was so out of touch with the outside world, or any doings at all, that I felt disoriented. I looked desperately for a sign of the TARDIS. I heard the familiar whir of the glass elevator, and watched it climb—in the distance—the side of the building. I could see the huge windows that looked into the lobby with the milky walls. The floor below that looked like the art museum. Which meant the TARDIS should be across one of the bridges nearby. I broke into a run to cross the bridge, and not a moment too soon.

The door behind me was opening, and Serin was looking out.

"Human!" he exclaimed, probably surprised to see me. His long limbs stepped easily onto the balcony. I was halfway across the bridge, hundreds of stories up, to the skyscraper on the other side.

"HUMAN!" Serin roared, holding his gun in my direction. "What have you done to our weapons signal, eh?" His spidery legs began to glide in my direction—I was still running, and turning to look over my shoulder, could see him catching up in a mere second—

I fell into a dark trench coat, hitting a body with the full force of my run. For second I was merely wiped out, falling past the coat and colliding with the beautiful marble flooring. I rolled two or three times and came to a stop, hitting the wall of the bridge.

"WHOA!" I screeched, sitting up. _Someone hire me to be a stunt double right NOW—that was AWESOME!_

The person in the trench coat had his back to me. He was standing between Serin and I, his body language shouting _Square off!_

"Doctor…" I began, but didn't finish.

Serin caught up to us and paused, looking at me, and back to the coat.

"I need that pass code," Serin growled harshly.

The paper was still in my pocket. I should have eaten it or something, right?

"Give me the human," Serin said. _Is it just me, or does his voice sound… nervous?_

"Nope, no-can-do!" said a voice. _Wait, _I realized, _Not the Doctor…_

"You can't shoot me," Serin's voice scoffed. "That signal controls all weaponry," Serin added a little louder, trying to regain that sound of authority.

"Wana bet?" said the man in the coat. In his hand, a small, Earthling revolver—like something from the old west—was pointed at Serin. "Dare me to shoot," he said, jovially.

"Give me the human girl," Serin repeated. "She has the updated code."

"Sounded like a dare to me," said the man, and with an ear-shattering blast, the gun cracked and Serin dropped like a bag of rocks. His body lay flat against the balcony, transparent blood seeping from beneath his armor and onto the marble flooring.

I had my ears covered, but the gunshot was far too loud. My ears were ringing, and I could hear nothing but the high-pitched nothingness. I avoided looking at Serin—it was too sad. There was no convincing him of his racism, no saving him from himself.

The man in the blue coat turned around and looked down at me, holding out a hand to pull me to my feet. I accepted his hand, in shock at what I was seeing. His mouth seemed to be saying, "Are you all right?" and I was shaking my head _No _but said, "Yes."

Being unable to hear things seemed to be my kryptonite for the day.

His mouth twisted in a smile, and without having ever been introduced—or even being able to hear anything—I knew exactly what he was saying.

"My name is Captain Jack Harkness. I'm with Torchwood."

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><p><strong>Please leave me your thoughts and reviews =) <strong>


	5. Stealthy Journey

**Dear Readers,**

**I'm soooooooorrry it has been so long! I sort of lost my inspiration for Doctor Who with the new Eleven and Amy and Rory, but I'm back and have been working very steadily on all my fics =) Thanks for loving this and sticking around. **

**Pippin**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

**Stealthy Journey**

**...**

"My name is Captain Jack Harkness. I'm with Torchwood."

There are appropriate responses to any introduction, like replying with my name and reciprocating his firm handshake.

"Hi," I said hoarsely, "You're very pretty."

_Oops. _

"Thank-you!" Jack laughed uproariously, looking down at our clasped hands and giving them a shake anyway. "Likewise! Though this is usually not how most of my rescues go. Usually there is a bit more seduction involved, but I'm adaptable."

"I'm not seduced!" I protested hastily, remembering to let go of his hand. I grimaced and put my hand against my ear, where it was still ringing but the hearing had, obviously, returned. "Thank-you, for, uh," I stuttered. "I guess it is cliché to say you saved my life—but that's what you did. Thank-you."

"What's your name?"

"Pippin… Pippin Strange…"

It suddenly occurred to me that with Captain Jack, I was probably safe. I was out of the hellish situation. The whole terrorism and threat of human genocide thing seemed like a bad nightmare from months ago. Was I only just running scared up a stairwell and nearly dying in a room full of gun-controlling computers?

It suddenly hit me. I was saved, and I probably wasn't going to die.

"Oh my gosh!" I put my hand on the balcony railing to steady myself. "I'm—out—oh—thank-you! Thank-you thank-you thank-you!" I put my hand over my mouth to try and keep myself from being embarrassed any further.

"Whoa, easy there," chuckled Jack, "Just take it in. First kidnapping, huh?"

I frowned. "Um. Yes. I've never been—never—holy mother…" I looked back at the building, and then over the railing. _God, I hate heights. _"—what are you doing here? How did you just show up? I didn't know Torchwood involved itself in planetary wars."

"Torchwood defends the earth against alien—ahem—problems," Jack beckoned me to step closer to him. "I'm _with _them, but they are uninvolved in this mess—officially." He took my chin in his hand and turned my head, moving aside hair with his other hand and looking at my unfortunate head wound (which I completely forgot about… hello, concussion). "Unofficially," he continued, "I couldn't resist a visit. It sounded too suspicious. I was in the neighborhood and in the mood for adventure. Does this hurt?"

"It didn't, till you reminded me it was there," I laughed uncomfortably. "It was just a bump though."

"It's been bleeding for awhile, though, your scalp is caked with it."

"Oh," I said slowly, "Well—I've been a little distracted with escaping from the basement. It wasn't bleeding when it first happened. Well—I mean, I only had someone look at it once. He said it was _fine_."

"You came all the way up alone?"

"A little help with this," I pulled out the Doctor's psychic paper from my pocket. "But yes—after the Doctor scrambled the language settings on the guns…"

"The Doctor is here?!" Jack practically squealed in excitement in a much higher pitch than I thought possible for him. "AHAH! I didn't know he was here!"

"Isn't that why you're here?"

"No! I didn't know he was involved in this at all! What a crazy happenstance!"

"He used this to tell me when to run. So I ran—and he wanted me to meet him on the surface—er, the upper levels. I think. I don't know where he is!" I suddenly felt afraid for him. "I mean, he was safely in the Tardis and hacking the SVS from there. But where is he now?"

"Where'd he park the Tardis?"

"Somewhere either at the end of this bridge or the one below us. I just know it was across from the museum—where the shooting occurred."

"Damn! A shooting too? You're going to have to update me on everything that went on in there. But first, safety. You—and me—we're going to find the Doctor." Jack held out his hand, beaming.

"Oh, why the heck not," I slammed my hand into his, and together, we proceeded around the balcony and headed for the marble stairs that wound the side of the building and proceeded to the level below.

…

When we reached the lower bridge, there was no sign of the Tardis. "I know we parked it here or there," I pointed above our heads at the level we had just left. "So—if it is at neither of those places—it means it has been moved. Where would he go, though?"

"Put ourselves in his shoes, I suppose," Jack suggested, "What would the Doctor do?"

"Where would those little Converse wibble-wobble to?" I repeated.

"Haha! You really do know him!" Jack laughed. "How long have you been traveling with him?"

"He nearly killed me with the Tardis _today. _So in apology he promised me sightseeing, and it turned into a terrorism plot. And throughout this whole ordeal I've spent maybe ten minutes with him, total."

"Oh," Jack sounded a little disappointed, "I suppose after an experience like this you won't want to travel with him much longer."

"That remains to be seen," I said carefully, "I'm almost done with university. I don't want to… miss it."

"But you want to go."

"Of course. The Doctor is fascinating."

"Don't you fall in love with him," Jack winked.

"He is in _no _danger of that. Not from me. He's about eight-hundred plus-years too old for me."

"Ah, me too," Jack said sympathetically, taking in our surroundings. "But where is he, that is the question."

I looked down at the psychic paper, hoping for something. It was empty.

"Let's try going inside, we're pretty exposed out here, and if the nims have snipers…ugh," Jack gave a little disgusted shudder and went to the main double doors for the entrance to this level—estimation, probably floor sixty or so.

This was a very tall skyscraper, with the little bridges shooting off on all sides and all floors to carry pedestrians to the other buildings. It was a city-wide network of easy access. It would certainly make it a lot harder to contain a group of terrorists trying to take over the city. 'Taking over' was literally a walk next door with a few armed buddies.

"Agreed," I said out loud, following Captain Jack as he pushed open the doors. "But let's go quietly… there could be more of them in here. I'm not in the mood to be publically executed on live television."

"Is that what they tried to do?" Jack said, even more flummoxed than before.

"Yeah. Rather unpleasant if you ask me."

"Good heavens, kid. You escaped from _that?" _he eyed me closely. "Perhaps you have more lives than I do."

I knew what he meant by that, but decided to let the whole 'I'm a fan so I know everything but I'll say it's from legends' bit slide. "No more than a cat I assure you," I let the entrance door close softly behind us with a click. We were in a wide, hexagonal shaped lobby, everything hospital white and clean. There was a front desk against the back wall, a few waiting chairs, and some potted plants.

"Is EVERYTHING a dentist office around here?" I muttered. "So many rooms look like this. Everything white. Waiting chairs. There must be a lot of nims that get tired of waiting for things."

Jack went around the empty counter and began to look underneath, where there were shining computers and typical office items, such as framed pictures of families (some nim, some human) and coffee mugs with cold tea inside.

"They left early," I muttered, sticking my finger in one of the mugs to check the warmth. I felt like Sherlock Holmes. "They were probably informed of the shooting and were evacuated the same time we were at the museum. Fortunately for them they weren't kept from escaping the building."

"Unless it was organized beyond the museum," Jack mused.

"You mean coordinated attacks?" I asked, shivering, despite the fact I was wearing a jacket. This building was colder than the art museum. "So there might just be a basement here full of prisoners."

"And guards with guns, like your pal lying dead uptop," Jack muttered.

"Oh, that was Serin, or Saruman as I liked to call him," I explained, "He's the one that hit me in the head. I don't know if he killed Jinn…"

"Jinn? He's your boyfriend?"

"He's a nim I met this morning! We were together until the Doctor told us to run, and everyone ran in different directions. I don't know what happened to any of the others—except that one was injured and being carried by another—and—wow," I paused, sitting in one of the office chairs and spinning it absently. The office blurred together like a view from a carousel. "I just realized how much of hero I'm not."

"Don't beat yourself up, most of you only have one life to live."

"And you don't?" I inferred cheekily, giving him a tired smile.

"Another story for another time." Jack paused at the door at the back of the room. "What do you think? Should we check downstairs?"

"Only if we don't take the elevator."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't escape from elevators."

…

This stairwell wasn't a gaping cement hole undergoing renovation. The back hall way led to many more small offices. Near a water cooler, a stairwell—carpeted, with a nice wooden railing—went downwards in the center of the building, rather than the fire-exit edge. It was far more comfortable and the carpet did not echo our footsteps.

"We _are _in a dentist office," I whispered to Jack. The smaller hallways, brown carpet, tight corners and closed doors… it made me feel pressed in on all sides, as if the little nameplates above the doors were watching our every move. I peered through the window of one of them, and spotted one of those reclining medical chairs, and two diagrams of teeth on the wall—one was human, the other nim. "I was just being sarcastic earlier, but it's actually a dentist office."

"How do my teeth look?" Jack shot me a beaming smile.

"Perfect," mine were clenched in a stressed smile.

We began walking down the stairs, Jack leading the way, the next landing showed nothing. And the next landing, nothing. Third level down…

We walked around the corner, and the hallway opened up a little, and there was a space where there was a small counter, a copy machine, and three small arm chairs.

And sitting at the end of the counter where a garbage can should have been, was the Tardis. It darkened the whole room with its large blue shadow, and I never really realized how intimidating the blue box looked when it sat in a place where it didn't belong.

Jack burst into a delighted cackle, and I ran up to the door and knocked on it heavily.

"Doctor!" I cried. "Doctor, are you there?"

No answer.

"That'd be too easy, wouldn't it?" I muttered despairingly, throwing myself into one of the small green armchairs. "Just as it would be way too easy for us to just relax in these chairs and wait for the Doctor to return. He always comes back to the Tardis, we'd definitely meet up with him here."

"But we could wait for days," Jack replied, "It's better to keep looking for him."

"I'll leave him a note," I declared, heaving myself out and walking to the counter. The Tardis blocked the little swinging gate that led to the back portion. I placed my hands on the counter, did three small prep-hops, and then jumped on top of it. I slid over and dropped behind it, rummaging through the drawers, looking for pen and paper.

When I opened one of the drawers, I was very surprised to find a small firearm hiding under a folder. It wasn't a very computerized looking gun, not like what Serin had. It was no bigger than the fist of a large man, and very sleek and round. More like a Star Trek phaser than anything.

Suddenly, I heard Jack hiss something that sounded like _stay down, _but I can't be sure.

There were other voices.

"Hi there, nims with large firearms," Jack said in a cheery tone.

My breathing accelerated. I lifted the small gun out of the drawer, keeping my back pressed against the cupboard. I realized there was an open space under the counter, next to a small waste bin. I leaned back into it, hiding myself as well as I could.

"What are you doing out of the prison?" asked a growling voice.

"Why are you asking obvious questions?" Jack returned. "I'm escaping!"

"Not now you aren't," said a feminine nim voice. "Put your hands behind your head."

"I can think of far better things to do with my hands," Jack said cheekily. "Would you like me to show you?"

The female nim scoffed. "Do as I say."

"Can't I resist arrest?"

"Not unless you want to die."

Something hit the desk _hard. _The whole thing nearly tipped over on me. The drawers opened, spilled, and things flew off the top and crashed on the floor by my feet. The sounds of struggle grew louder. Something _popped _loudly, and I hastened to cover my ears and wondered if loud sounds could make them bleed.

I heard Jack grunt, and one of the nims cried aloud. He had shot one of them. The sounds of fighting continued, something glass broke, and the Tardis shuddered when something ran into it. When I was certain I heard the sound of the armchair get shoved a few inches over, I jumped from my hiding place, knowing they'd be at least five feet away.

Shaking, I pointed the gun at the last remaining nim. There were two down already, one knocked out and the other shot with Jack's pistol. Jack was holding out his fists like a prize-winning boxing champion, and his pistol was on the ground some distance away. But the other nim—the female—had the barrel of her gun pressed into his temple.

"Put your gun down, child," she said coolly when I popped out, only a flicker in her eyes betraying my surprise. "Or this will go through his brain."

"I think I might shoot you instead," I said shakily, hands trembling with a very unfamiliar weapon in my hands. It was simple really. It had no catch, no buttons. Only a trigger. I looked at Jack's eyes. They were resigned and tired, and there was a little blood coming from a cut on his lip. He gave me a nod of permission, mouthing, "_Do it!_"

The nim felt the slight gesture through the gun.

Two explosions went off at once.

The kick threw my arms nearly to the ceiling, and I flew back and hit the back filing cabinet, knocking myself to the floor. Panicked adrenaline kicked in, and then I was on my feet and flying over the counter like a miniature hobbit ninja.

The female nim was lying dead on the ground—but so was Jack, with a hole through his head.

"Oh no!" I gasped, falling down to my knees beside him. I knew he was going to return—this is the Captain we're talking about here, the randomly immortal man who dies and comes back over and over until he becomes a giant head in a jar.

But that didn't stop me from flipping out. There was a man lying dead in front of me, with a bullet wound, and I may or may not have caused it by shooting the one who held the gun—_gah! Too confusing!_

I killed a nim. I'd fought before—battles even—but I've never liked guns. Hated them. Much like the Doctor, but even more so. I shot one once at a range and never wanted to touch one again. I laid the gun down on the floor, hands trembling. I looked at the nim, and poked her pale bluish flesh around the shoulder. No response. "Hello?" I cried, touching her face. She was definitely dead. The gun had blown a hole through her chest, just below the sternum. "I'm sorry," I sobbed, reaching over the moving her very large lids over the pale, unseeing eyes rolled back into her head. "I didn't _want_ to," I said, shivering. Being so close to her was giving me a case of trauma and the creeps.

I reached over and pulled her own gun out of her chilled hand. It was much bigger—still a handgun—but heavier and more complicated, like a storm trooper's blaster. In my head, I kept comparing everything that was happening to something from Star Trek or Star Wars—and that can't be good. Especially if you're in the _other _popular sci-fi franchise.

"This would have been easier if you were in white body armor or if you were a stupid battle droid," I cried, lifting the heavy gun and chucking it over the desk. It landed with a clatter. "And you!" I addressed Captain Jack fiercely. "You can die on _other _adventures, not _this _one. I don't like people getting shot. I can't handle it."

I shook his shoulders, patting his cheek, and then resorting to slapping his cheek. "How long do these resurrection things last?" I cried in his face loudly. "I admit it, I haven't seen all of the first series. Okay? I've missed most of your episodes. But I'm _going _to watch them! I mean, I saw your first appearance! I just don't know how long it takes for you to _wake UP!_" I lifted his dead-weight hand and slapped at it, then let it fall back to the floor. "What if someone came along and decapitated you? What if that is how it happened? What if I'm here for your last death… ever? What am I supposed to do?"

I leaned far too close to his face, listening for breath. Nothing. I checked his pulse—my hands were shaking and I couldn't feel it. No good. "Jack!" I said, more calmly. "Jack, please wake up. Someone would have heard the shots. We need to get to safety. _Captain _Jack Harkness, please get your lazy arse off the floor. Stop being dead." _I feel like Dr. Watson right now. _"Just stop being dead _please,_" I amended. It's the magic word, after all.

No response. He was still.

"Listen, I'm about to go deep here," I whispered, putting a hand on either side of his face. "I've had friends get shot before. Some of them have survived, others have not. We've known each other for all of a half-hour, but I'd… really… really appreciate it if you weren't dead… because… this can't keep happening to people I care about. Please wake up."

Did his eyelids just twitch? Or was it my imagination?

"Wow, I really thought my moment of back story would do the trick," I sobbed angrily. "That's how it usually works. I guess I should know better, though, right? As soon as I bare my soul, I get burned. Thanks _Jack. _Thanks _a lot._"

Jack lifted his head and let out a horrified gasp of pain and shock.

I almost screamed and fell backwards.

"You're welcome?" Jack panted, leaning back again.

"You're alive!" I erupted, throwing my arms around him. "Oh my gosh. You're _alive. _Thank God. Oh thank-you. Come on." I tried to lift him, but he was too heavy.

He propped himself up on one elbow and grimaced, coughing horribly.

"You're okay, it's all right now," I tried to say comfortingly. "She, uh, shot you in the head. I shot her. But I think it is all right now," I maneuvered behind him and pushed at his shoulders, managing to get him into a sitting position. I had to brace my weight against his to even come close to propping him up. _Sigh. I am a very tiny person. _

Jack was dazed and wiping the blood from his head. "Right. Got it. What a mess."

I wearily leaned my back against his, facing the opposite direction. "Yeah. Three dead nims—er—two dead…"

"Three dead," he corrected, "I broke that one's skull with the butt of my pistol."

"So three dead. We'll probably get captured if we keep sitting here." I shifted away, and Jack didn't fall back down. Awesome, at least he can sit up by himself. I stood up and walked robotically back to the desk, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen that had fallen out of their places, and wrote to the Doctor.

_Doctor,_

_Jack Harkness and I are looking for you. We found the Tardis. If the building is unsafe we won't wait here. We don't know where we'll look but we're still here and alive. Don't you leave this planet without me! _

_-Pippin_

I tucked the note into the door, cramming it into the crack so that he'd feel it when he reached for the handle. When I turned around, Jack was standing and brushing himself off.

"How are you… feeling?" I asked, hesitantly.

"Pretty good," he said, cracking his neck and his knuckles. "You?"

"You were dead."

Jack nodded sheepishly. "Oh—well—you know—the Lord decided it wasn't my time to go."

I shrugged. "Okay then… let's keep moving."

"That was pretty brave of you, popping out from behind the desk," Jack pointed out. "I was hoping you'd keep hiding till the worst of it was over."

"If I had stayed back there, she would have shot you and then found me," I said slowly. "I was just trying to stay alive, that's all."

"Even so," Jack said kindly, "I can see why the Doctor picked you up."

I brightened a little. "You can?"

"Yeah, neither of you are fans of guns, but you'll use 'em when it comes down to it."

I chuckled uncomfortably. I was hoping for something deeper, but I suppose it would suffice. I picked up the phaser I had used off the floor and held it loosely in my hand. "I'm afraid I'll have to put up with it for now. I think the Doctor would have left it in the drawer."

Jack began loading his pistol with ammo from inside the giant pockets of his trench coat. "It's always good to have a little trustworthy firepower at your side. Trust me."

"I don't know about trusting you all that much," I said off-handedly, stepping into the unexplored hallway and checking the corners like a spy. "You _were _just dead. You could be a vengeful ghost for all I know. But I'm figuring you're just… one of those… immortal fellows." It was a very lame lie. "And for _some reason,_" (cough, TV show, cough) "I am not surprised."

"Immortal fellows?" Jack smiled. "Nice posh accent when you say that."

"Okay—seriously?" I whirled on him. "If _I _die, there isn't any poppin' back from the afterlife for me. I'm gone—permanently. So while my accidental accent may be sort of funny, we could—at least—keep our voices _down,_" I glanced around worriedly. "And—and—just—take charge, will you? I'm scared and I'm hungry and I just killed someone and I'm not _taking it very well!_" I was shaking with fury. "You're the professional, here. I'm… I'm just lost."

Jack took in my loss of temper, but rather than retaliating as I expected, he nodded grimly and took my hand.

In complete silence, we began to move through the hallway again, but this time I wasn't the only one checking corners for enemies.

…

Suddenly, another person opened an otherwise quiet door to my left. Jack shoved me out of the way and stood in front of me, pointing his revolver at the quivering shape.

"Aest!" I declared, recognizing our friendly little tour guide.

"OH!" she cried in response. "It is you! The Doctor's friend. He's been looking for you. I was—with him—when he scrambled the guns—he and I were separated. I've been hiding in here, they took this building, and as far as I know, most of the skyscrapers in this quarter…"

"You know this chick?" Jack said suspiciously.

"Not really, she is the one who brought us to the museum…" I paused.

Aest was shaking, and she wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Did you do it on purpose?" I said, a terrible thought entering my mind. "Telling us to go right into the room where Serin planned on teleporting after he shot Edgar Monstruo?"

"No, no, no," Aest cried shrilly, shaking her head.

"She's lying," Jack said, unfeelingly. "She's with the terrorists."

"No I'm not," Aest protested. "I… I knew what was going to happen, I admit it. I was told by my manager that any stray humans wandering around should be coerced into the museum or the auditorium or any tourist trap I could conjure. I was threatened. You have to believe me."

"Threatened by who?"

Aest shook her head. "I can't… I can't say! He'll kill me."

"Saruman is dead," Jack said lightly.

"Serin," I corrected. "You don't have to be afraid of him. Jack shot him."

Aest turned away, trembling and wringing her hands.

"Where is the Doctor? Do you have any idea where he is?"

"No, no, I tell you, we're separated, I ran one way, he ran the other…"

"Where do you THINK he might have gone?" I demanded.

"He might have gone… to… the compound. With Commander Siska. He's the leader—second only to the president—they won't let us in, though. Not if our loyalty is being _questioned,_" she added the last part angrily with a look at Jack's gun.

"They'll let us in," I said confidently. "If the Doctor is with them. He knows us. Jack is with Torchwood, anyway."

"Yeah!" Torchwood's finest added with fervor. "They've got to let us in. It's a madhouse out here. I've died once already."

"I'll… I'll show you where it is… but I will not gauruntee you'll get in."

"Show us like you showed us the museum?" I said, rather haughtily. I glanced Jack. "Another trap, or a chance to reconnect with the Doctor? The choice is before us, Captain."

"I say we've got a chance if we treat it like a trap," Jack said, motioning Aest to walk in front of us. "But we lose a chance if we ignore it. If the Doctor is there, that's where we want to be."

"Agreed."

Aest nodded numbly and began her gliding, skating walk down the hall. Jack glanced at me, apologetically. "I am sorry about the shooting thing."

I winced. "I don't want to think about it."

"I get it though. Sort of. I mean I can imagine I do," Jack amended. "You shouldn't have had to see that."

"It's not your _fault."_

"I could hear you, you know. While I was dead. I mean, it was a little blurry. But I picked a few things up."

I looked over at the paintings on the wall. Some of them were small prints of Edgar Monstruo's human and nim art pieces.

"I'm sorry you've gone through—that. Again."

I waved a hand to stop him. "Don't apologize. Please. Just try not to die again, all right?"

"I'll do my best."

Aest opened a door, and sunlight flooded through. We stepped out onto a porch with marble railings, and the city glistened before us.

She pointed to a huge, circular stadium, several blocks away. "That's the compound," she said, a little sadly. "That is the safest place on the planet right now."

"And we're not in it yet!" Jack checked down both sides of the balcony, winding around both sides of the building. From the other side, we'd be able to see the museum, but we were opposite side, looking at a whole new view of Nimrode.

"But we will be," even as I said it, I faltered. "Eventually, right?"

"Right."

The clouds were parting, and we were illuminated against the side of the building like a decorative ornament. The only thing now was to get across to the compound, moving from one occupied building to another, until we were behind safety's walls.

* * *

><p><strong>Next: Safety is on the horizon—but how difficult will it be to get there? And where is that blasted Doctor?<strong>

* * *

><p>Sorry I didn't have time to write personal replies, but here is a few Answers to Questions...<p>

Captain Jack is a character from the David Tennant years, and he even has his own alien-tv-show-spinoff called "Torchwood". You should look up all his best scenes on youtube!

I'd LOVE to write a fic where I'm in the "chuckverse". I LOVE CHUCK!


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